


Edrington and the Witches

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Series: Edrington and the Witches [1]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Graphic Sex, Horror, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-30
Updated: 2009-07-30
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:18:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edrington finds out that his bride-to-be and her family are not all that they appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

Major Alexander Edrington, Earl of Edrington, had faced many a frightening predicament in his life. He'd been under-manned and out-numbered in battle, he'd been surrounded, beaten back, forced to retreat. But never had he been as distressed as he was the morning the sun greeted him with its cheerful yet pessimistic rosy orange light, only to be overwhelmed by clouds moments later, the morning when he got up as usual, took breakfast by himself in the breakfast room off his bedroom's main chamber as usual, dressed, restrained his unruly golden curls into a tight queue and descended the main stair as a man escorting himself to his own execution.

"You needn't have dressed for battle, Alexander dear," Lady Hermione Edrington, the thin elegant woman taking tea in the downstairs parlor sighed as her son entered, motioning towards the regimentals he wore.

"I always show my colors when confronting the enemy," he replied darkly, taking a seat in an armchair across from his mother and accepting a cup of tea from the parlor maid.

The refined woman tipped her pointed chin up, regarding her son in a fashion that always made him uncomfortable, the silver in her fading blonde hair catching in the candlelight, her pale speckled sea green eyes twinkling with a mischievous light despite her regal manner.

"Honestly, Alexander," she told him mildly, "she is a perfectly lovely young lady. It's not as if I haven't waited for you to do this yourself; I have and you have failed to find a suitable candidate for marriage and so!, I have taken matters into my own hands. Don't be so morose."

"I have met some of _your_ candidates, mother, and none have caught my fancy," he snorted. "Stuck up, spoilt..."

"Too tall, too thin, too dark, not dark enough," his mother recited with a sigh. "I know you look for romance, Alexander. That will come later, trust me. May I remind you that your Father's and mine was an arranged marriage. You must trust my judgment; I have found a fine one this time. She is a bit on the shy side, according to her mother, Lady Eades, but I think you'll be very fond of her."

"And how does the lady in question feel about being given to the Earl of Edrington like no more than a fancy service set?" Edrington asked darkly. "As if the bride herself was one of the wedding gifts?"

Lady Edrington let a breath escape her breast patiently. Honestly, she couldn't blame him. When she'd first been brought to Edrington Estate by her father to meet her future husband for the first time a mere week prior to their wedding, she'd been frightened senseless. She imagined how the girl would be feeling right about now, her stomach all butterflies, wondering if her betrothed would turn out to be beauty or the beast. The mood he was in, gray and stormy like the mid-morning sky, he was likely to be more than surly to the poor terrified thing, especially from what her mother had told her about the timid creature.

"Do _try_ to get to know her before you go scaring her out of her wits," his mother frowned, pouting slightly as she bit the corner of her pink and slender lower lip.

"I don't intend on scaring her out of her wits, mother," he sighed, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. He *was* behaving less than amiable this morning and if this girl, this lady, was as reserved and bashful as his mother had made her out to be she'd most likely think her husband-to-be a monster. "Does this `fine lady' have a name and if so will you enlighten me or shall I just have to guess it?"

"Frances Eades," Lady Edrington replied, with a faint smile. Alexander at least was feigning interest that was a start. "And she will be accompanied by her guardians, Lady Morgianna Eades, her mother, and Dame Cecile Wardsoame, her sister. And I do expect you to extend to them common courtesy as they will be guests in our home until Frances has a chance to settle in." The parlor maid, Elise, entered and bowed silently. "Ah," Lady Edrington smiled, "they've arrived. Come along, Alexander. We shall greet them."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Is he handsome, mama?" Frances asked, peering out of the carriage window tentatively at the looming shape of Edrington Manor in the near distance with wide dark green eyes, a lock of wispy strawberry hair falling across her similarly colored brow.

"Of course he is," Lady Morgianna replied, opening one violet colored eye lazily to consider her daughter. "Would I allow one of my girls anything else, Franny?" Cecile prodded her mother further awake with one finger and smiled mischievously, her dark eyes shining with a morbid glee as her perfect golden tresses spilled across her shoulders. "What is it Cecy?!" Morgianna snapped, opening both eyes this time and straightening herself when she saw they were approaching their destination. "Lovely, lovely. Franny, sweetness, collect yourself."

"Will he be mean, mama?" Frances asked as if she hadn't heard her mother. Two figures had appeared now at the front steps of the enormous manor house, one female, one very upright male in a dazzling red uniform. Frances wished she could see him better; she squinted in order to get a better look but to no avail. "Will he be gruff like papa was? Or ill tempered like Sir Thomas was? I didn't like him!" she screwed up her face in an obvious gesture of dislike.

"He will be as sweet as honey," Morgianna assured her daughter, taking her pale chin in her hand and giving her a loving squeeze. "Would I allow anything else for my dearest, my youngest?"

"You allowed it for me," Cecy pouted, crossing her arms across her chest in a sign of protest. "Sir Thomas was horrid," she spat out. "He was horrid and I'm glad he's dead!"

"Hush, Cecy," scolded Morgianna. "Bite your tongue! They'll be no talk like that here, understood?" Cecy reluctantly agreed, still scowling. "Sir Thomas was a mistake, a poorly conceived scheme and there will be no more speak of him! And quit your moping! What will they think of us if my eldest daughter comes to their house as a guest and sulks like a little spoilt child the entire time?"

"They will think whatever you want them to, mama, they always do," Cecile said in a low dangerous tone but looked away when Morgianna shot her a menacing glare.

The carriage came to a halt and a footman opened the door, take Lady Morgianna's hand and helping her out. The first thing that shocked Lord Edrington is how incredibly tall and regal the woman was, how strikingly prominent were her stern facial features, how imposing her stature with her broad shoulders and noble bearing. Curls of dark hair were tempered with just minor hints of silver and white, her dark brow and eyes stern in appearance and yet somehow ethereal, otherworldly.

Next came Cecile, as tall and harsh as her mother though she had a impish air that her parent lacked with stormy cunning eyes deep set into her brow and a temperament to match, and over flowing curls like spun gold which shone even against the overcast sky. She gave Edrington a particularly naughty glare and for one horrified moment he believed this devilish creature to be his future bride.

Both mother and daughter turned as a third figure appeared from the carriage, small in height and nervous in demeanor. Her hair was the dark thick color of wild strawberries with eyebrows and eyelashes to match and her eyes mysterious and tumultuous, like the skies after a storm. Unlike her relatives who were severe and angular, she was rounded, soft, her somber purple dress doing its best to contain and conceal her ample pale bosom.

Edrington instantly felt the heat rise beneath his many layers of clothes despite his best efforts to control and restrict himself. Discipline, he reminded himself, it's all about discipline, order and restraint. Love at first site was the hackneyed imaginings of fiction writers and fairy tales, perhaps lust... but that could easily be kept in check so long as he kept the order within himself. Certainly, she wasn't handsome in the common sense, not like the Ladies he was used to dealing in, but there was something about her, a quirky sort of loveliness that affected him. And perhaps this was a good thing were she to become his wife, as if her beauty would be a secret shared only between her and her husband; a prospect, which was rapidly looking more attractive to Alexander as every minute passed.

"...And this is my son, the Earl of Edrington," Lady Hermione was making introductions. Frances hung back shyly, daring to glance into Alexander's dark eyes but once before turning away, her cheeks turning a natural flattering rouge. He took her hand delicately and kissed the back of it, her face turning a deeper shade of crimson. "Good, good," Lady Edrington smiled slightly, silently pleased at the small reaction and her son's sudden rediscovered gentility. "Come, let's inside then, shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

Frances curled up upon a bench and willed herself to be part of the blooming roses that surrounded her. She had desperately wanted some time to herself and as her mother and sister fussed about the unpacking of their wardrobes she had been able to sneak away. Lady Hermione had suggested the rose gardens; Edrington Manor house, known as Abberline Cross, was most noted for it's splendid large sweet smelling roses. And so Frances went, hoping to find her quiet there, though she was not entirely displeased when she saw Alexander unexpectedly come strolling down the thin stone pathway. He paused when he caught sight of her, obviously debating whether he could turn back unnoticed or if he now had to approach. Too late, he had been discovered. Somehow, he thought begrudgingly, this felt like his mother's doing.  
  
"Good day, milady," he said formally, giving her a short half-bow. "I did not expect to find you tarrying around out here."  
  
"Nor I you," she said timidly, making room for him on the wrought iron seat. He took it without reluctance. There was something about this girl, some inexplicable pull at him when she was around. Surely her sister was much more comely, in the conventional sense but Frances was unique, lovely. He grew especially fond of the way she seemed to blush all over, the way her coloring spread down her neck to the pale flesh above her neckline. Much to his own surprise, he was beginning to fancy the idea of wedding her, this strange almost unearthly creature. "It is such a lovely day," she began, trying valiantly through her shyness to make a decent conversation.  
  
"Indeed it is," he replied, his voice was like thick warmed honey against the hazy afternoon air. It sent a small thrill through Frances. "You've chosen my favorite spot to come and hide yourself in," he told her with a quirk to his thin mouth which sent a now distinctive ticklish tingle through her limbs seemingly emanating from her belly. "One is so effectively hidden from the prying eyes of the manor. Our servants are very loyal, but... how shall I put this? They are a curious lot."  
  
"Do you suppose they're watching us now?" Frances asked wistfully, glancing around.  
  
"I've no doubt of it," he replied. He could just imagine his mother and all those pesky maidservants who liked to giggle and flutter their eyes at him when he passed them in the hallway pressed up against every window in the manor facing in this direction, trying to catch some glimpse of what was happening. He chuckled at the mental manifestation of that image, the women all pressed against the glass, like too many fireflies caught on a summer's evening and stuffed into a jar, their faces and fanciful bosoms crushed up against the panes of glass.  
  
He found his eyes inadvertently wandering towards Frances' plump breast, a wicked smile crossing his features. The low, deep, dry sound of his laugh sent an unfamiliar though not unpleasant jolt through Frances already shaking limbs. She colored deeply when she noticed to where his eyes had strayed. No, this would not be bad at all, she thought to herself. Now to find a way to keep her mama and Cecy from interfering.  
  
"Your journey was pleasant?" he asked, relaxing somewhat, stretching his legs out in front of him languorously, crossing them at the ankle, and leaning his elbows upon the bench's elaborate back rest. He looked even more noble, more dangerous, more sensual when he was resting than when he kept himself rigid with self-control.  
  
"Indeed it was, milord," she said trying hard not to stutter as she often did when she was nervous. Cecy teased her mercilessly for it, making her extra conscious of it. "Though being crammed in a confined space with my family for the better part of the day is hardly what I'd call agreeable." As soon as the words passed her lips, she couldn't believe she'd actually said them! She bit her bottom lip and waited for his reaction, which surely would either be disapproving or bewildered. Instead, he bit back a laugh and graced her with one of his fantastically wry smiles.  
  
"I comprehend fully," he replied with a small nod and a smirk. "I haven't traveled with my own family for quite some time but when I was young I used to insist on riding behind the carriage upon my horse, Chassy."  
  
"Do you ride often?" she asked, beginning to feel a little more at ease in his presence. She found her gaze roam irresistibly towards the strong outline of his muscular thighs beneath the thick fabric of his cream colored breeches. Yes, he was definitely an accomplished equestrian from the look of his well-defined powerful legs. "I mean do you enjoy it?" she added quickly, clarifying her question after observing the obvious answer.  
  
"Quite," he replied. "And you?"  
  
"I admit to being somewhat frightened of the beasts," she answered with a smile. "I was never taught properly, I had other studies to attend to."  
  
"Well," he said casually, "I suppose I'll just have to give you lessons then." The idea gave him a strange sort of stimulation and a warmth began to spread from his groin as he pictured riding behind her in the saddle, his arm wrapped around her rounded waist, his mouth to her ear, nuzzling her soft hair aside to whisper instructions to her, his thighs pressed so firmly against her backside. If his hand were to wander just inches upwards, across her belly, up to the abundance of her bosom... He looked away to hide the flush of lust that now covered his face from her. "Have you any hobbies then?" he tried desperately to change the subject and keep control of himself.  
  
"Needlework, I find it relaxes my nerves," she told him enthusiastically, taken by surprise by his interest. "And reading, I do so enjoy a good book." There were others but those would have to wait till later, if ever.  
  
"Then I think you will find our library here at The Cross to be quite to your satisfaction," he smiled. Many of the young Ladies he'd come across had never been educated in reading and the ones who had had hardly shared Frances' obvious passion for the written word. It showed a natural brightness and intelligence he found extremely appealing, being able to make love to her mind as well as her voluptuous body.  
  
"You look much like your mother," Frances plodded on. It seemed to be going so well she didn't want the rhythm they had formed, the mutual attraction, to come to an end. "Have you any siblings?"  
  
"Two younger brothers and a sister, they are as fair as my mother," he replied. "And all spoilt to the nines."  
  
"You are fair," she said quietly.  
  
"In appearance," he laughed. "I've been told my manner is somewhat otherwise, that I can be rather abrasive at times."  
  
"I have not found you such in the least," Frances said timidly, her shyness suddenly coming upon her again. "Under the circumstances, I'd consider your manner to be quite fair, as well as your appearance."  
  
She closed her eyes when she felt his fingers brush her hair lightly, moving it from her shoulder. She turned her head slightly towards him as she felt him lean in closer, felt his hot breath against her bare neck, prickling her skin. Her own breath quickened and she parted her lips expectantly. She'd never been kissed before, though Cecy had often bragged about the number of men she'd tempted with her lips and had taken great pains in describing every fantastic sensation each kiss had caused to her eager younger sister. She felt his hand upon hers and, to her surprise, felt him raising it and pressing the back to his mouth. He let his lips linger over her skin for a moment then withdrew.  
  
"My Lady, you are truly the finest gentlewoman I have ever met," he told her gently, his voice rich and smooth as caramel. "Will I see you at dinner?"  
  
She managed to nod, though her heart was pounding uncontrollably and her senses flashing wildly like lightening on the horizon. With that he stood and sauntered away. He'd been gone a full five minutes before she dared to open her eyes, first one cautiously, then the other. Afternoon was turning to evening, the golden rays of the now unshrouded, now sinking sun illuminating the rose garden in an otherworldly fashion. She was alone. As soon as she succeeded in regaining her wits, she let out a great joyous squeal and drummed her small feet against the tightly packed earth and stone of the garden floor excitedly. How wonderful it was to be her at that very moment!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Sophia, Frances' lady's maid, was waiting for her when she returned to the guest quarters to dress for supper. The young woman somehow managed to evade her mother and sister, who she could hear arguing loudly the next room over, and slip quietly into her bedding chamber.  
  
"Miss," Sophia, a young fair-haired girl of gangly bearing, bowed and promptly began helping her unbutton her gown.  
  
"Have they been at it much?" Frances asked.  
  
"For some time now, miss," Sophia replied, slipping the frock over Frances' head and holding up two to choose from. Frances chose her favorite, a lovely emerald green garment with a titillatingly low neckline and a sweeping skirt. She wanted to wear her best to impress the Earl tonight. Sophia lowered her voice as she helped Frances on with the gown. "From what I could hear, miss, they're arguing on Lady Eades' valise."  
  
Frances frowned suddenly, her mouth turning down at the corners in a distinct and child like pout. "The valise, her BLACK valise?! The one mama keeps the items of her trade in?!" Sophia nodded solemnly. "Curse her, and curse her again! She promised me she would not interfere, she promised she'd leave those things behind at Eades House!"  
  
"Begging, your pardon, miss," Sophia said timidly, "but I don't think she can."  
  
"Still, I will have to have a talk with her," Frances said, setting her jaw determinedly. She caught sight of the time from the small but elegant mantel clock that graced her chambers and let out a panicked gasp. "But afterward for I am already late! Quick, do me up!"  
  
Edrington's dark eyes glittered like onyx in the candlelight, cast from the two magnificently lavish chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling, when they turned to regard Frances as she entered the grand dining hall. They swept over her like a hot breeze, taking in every inch of her, from her shoes to the top of her head. She felt herself blush wildly again under his scrutiny but was not now embarrassed by the sensation but found a certain sense of exhilaration in it, especially when he stood to greet her, his tightly restrained hair shimmering like golden silk as he bowed to her, taking her hand in his and kissing it softly. It brought to mind for both of them that illicit kiss shared in the garden; even though their lips had never met, it had been the most erotic moment either had ever experienced. In a maneuver Edrington would be proud of his own troops for pulling off, Lady Morgianna and Cecile appeared seemingly out of nowhere to flank Frances protectively, one on either side, leading her to her seat at the large polished oak table.  
  
"We must talk," Frances whispered to her mother rather sharply as they sat.  
  
"Later, my dear," Morgianna smiled, keeping her up a serene demeanor and countenance under Lady Hermione's watchful eye. "I trust your interlude with the Earl in the garden was successful."  
  
"It wasn't meant to be successful," Frances hissed back, "it was just meant to be. He was quite pleasant, if that's what you're asking, and I think I'm growing rather fond of him."  
  
"Did you share any indecent kisses with your Earl amongst the roses, Franny" Cecy cooed in her other ear, a decidedly nasty tone evident in her voice. "Or perhaps it was more than kisses that your Earl desired from you..."  
  
"Hush," Morgianna scolded quickly, quieting her eldest daughter. "I'll speak with you later."  
  
"And I'll speak with _you_ later," Frances reminded her mother, for she got the distinct feeling the older woman was trying to change the subject.  
  
Alexander took his seat at the table across from the three ladies and instantly they fell into silence. Gazing upon the three women, he couldn't help but wonder what strange portal had opened to allow these faeries into the mortal world. Still his eyes watched Frances, following her every graceful move. She dared to meet his stare from time to time, smiling at him in a manner that made him feel strangely eager. Discipline, order and restraint, he kept reminding himself even as he felt the uncomfortable swelling within his breeches. Anything could be accomplished and controlled with discipline, order and restraint. Still he longed to be alone with her once again, to learn more of her, to delight in her bubbly character once the shyness began to fall away, though he found the shyness to be alluring in its own right.  
  
Lady Edrington gave Morgianna a knowing nod looking upon her son and his exchanged glances with the bashful strawberry haired girl seated across the table from him. Her scheme to get them alone together in the garden must have been successful, she thought proudly, for indeed he seemed to have warmed to her considerably. "Frances, dear," Hermione smiled, throwing Alexander a sly gaze, "did you much enjoy our gardens?"  
  
"Yes, milady," Frances answered, flushing once again. "I found them to be quite pleasant. Y-your golden blooms are quite exquisite, they gave me particular pleasure," she added with a demure grin.  
  
Alexander smirked shrewdly at the mild innuendo in her words; not only was she as sweet as a honeysuckle, she was clever as well. Boldly, he stretched out a leg and brushed it provocatively against her ankle. She started at first at the strange and unexpected sensation on the hard leather of his boots caressing the smooth silk of her stockinged leg. It was a shocking and unfamiliar but highly arousing feeling, and a seemingly uncharacteristic show of emotion on Alexander's behalf. She returned the touch lightly, stifling a giggle at the deliciously lewd game being played out right beneath this proper party's noses.  
  
Dinner was too soon finished, and the ladies stood to retire to the ladies' parlor, Alexander to the study to enjoy a smoke. As Morgianna and Hermione conversed and Cecy followed closely behind, delighted by the riches she saw around her, Frances hung back, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the Earl.  
  
Suddenly she felt a pull on her arm, dragging her into the shadows of the dimly lit corridor. Before she even had a chance to comprehend what was happening to her, she found herself in Alexander's strong arms, being held tightly to his firmly muscled chest. She felt his scorching breath on her cheek, gently grazing the once again crimson stained skin, his sweet lips blazing a path to her own where they met, lightly at first. He kissed her deeply, tightening his embrace so she could feel every reaction his body was having to her. She kissed him back as well as she could, this being her first time, enchanted by his taste and the feel of his mouth on hers. He was rigid against her and she felt things so unfamiliar and yet so seductive and intriguing she wanted the chance to explore each one. To his astonishment, she didn't try to pull away, she didn't struggle to protect her maidenly innocence. She gave into his advances so lovingly, so purely, it made the ache he felt for her grow a thousand fold. He had to stop himself before he couldn't. He broke away, panting heavily, but did not loosen his grip on her. He nuzzled his way up her cheek to her ear. "We should probably let go now, before they notice you're disappeared," he whispered huskily.  
  
No! It couldn't be over so soon, Frances didn't want it to be! But as rapidly as it had begun it was over, and he was slipping from the embrace, melting into the darkness and shadows. And then he was gone, leaving her mind spinning and her body uncommonly attentive. Only hours ago, in the garden, she thought no one in the entire world could have felt as wonderful as she at that very moment. She was wrong, for she had managed to exceed even herself at that very instant.


	3. Chapter 3

"How dare you!" Frances said angrily as she burst into Morgianna bedchamber, closing the door firmly behind her to make sure no one could accidentally overhear. The older woman scrambled to collect a diverse group of items she'd had laid out on the dressing table before her and stuff them into a beaten up old black valise. She stood indignantly, wrapping her silk robe tightly around her stately body as she tipped her chin up defiantly. "Mama, you promised! You promised you'd leave your things behind!"

"You know what I am, what you are, and what you asked of me was impossible," Morgianna hissed. Her hard features softened and she sighed, taking a seat again before the dressing table. "I was only trying to help you," she said, sniffing slightly in wounded pride. "You know that, Franny. I only ever try to help the both of you. I try so hard only to give you what your hearts desire."

"I want this to be real, mama!" Frances frowned, moving towards Morgianna, snatching the black bag from her. "You are not to interfere and that is my final word, so help me! These things, they don't make love. Look at you. They have procured for you all the titles and riches and lands your heart could desire, but where is your happiness? Where is Cecy's?"

"Cecy doesn't want happiness, she's far too ambitious for that! Sir Thomas was an error in judgment, I admit to that," Morgianna replied defensively.

"But I don't want Lord Edrington to be a judgment at all," Frances tried to appeal to her. "I want him to love me, the real way. Have you so little confidence in my own natural charms and attractions that you need to resort to majicking a love spell?"

"Oh, my dearest, no," Morgianna said lovingly, enfolding her daughter in her arms. Frances knelt before her and the older woman took the younger woman's face in her hands gently. "Since the dawn of time, the Farrar women have practiced their craft. To be the one thrice blessed in my generation, to be the Farrar one, it is a responsibility that I have worn heavily but proudly upon my shoulders since my own mother died. The power I possess, it makes me strong yet it wears me down inside. The art of conjure is in my blood and like or not in yours as well. We know no different, perhaps one day you will understand that fully."

"Yes, mama. Just promise me one thing," Frances said softly, gazing into the warm sadness of Morgianna's violet eyes, "let me do this myself. Please. Let me know if he can truly love me. You can meddle all you like with everyone else's lives, just... leave the Lord Edrington to me. I want to love him and... I think there's a chance he may love me but I want to be sure that it is real."

Lady Eades smiled, more pleasantly than Frances had seen her do so in years, and softly pinched her daughter's nose. "I promise, my sweet. Now run along to bed, off with you!" Frances stood and proceeded to leave, the black valise stubbornly clutched in her hand. "You are not going to..."

"For safekeeping, mama," Frances said firmly. "And so I can be sure. Goodnight." Ignoring her mother's loud and rather irate protests, she left the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You shouldn't play with those things," Cecile warned, sitting before the orange flickering light of the fire raging in the massive fireplace in Frances' chambers as she brushed out her silken gold tresses. The wild glow set the young woman alight in a seemingly spectral radiance; like a golden goddess, Frances thought. Always she had lived in Cecy's shadow when it came to the fancy of men, but the Earl, he was different, she thought with a secret smile. She was convinced that he saw *her* truly, his actions towards her could only prove it to be.

"I'm not playing," Frances insisted rather offended, laying on her stomach upon her bed and searching curiously through the many objects hidden within the mysterious black valise; candles and little bottles marked with carefully handwritten labels that said things like 'Dragon's Blood' and 'Nightshade' among other things. Did Cecy think she'd never practiced before? That she hadn't been taught just as she had? That she didn't know how to handle the articles of the craft? She cast her older sibling a dark glare and continued to have a look through the items. She pulled out a rather odd something, a long intricately modeled device carved from a single block of wood, polished smooth save for the intentional raised lines mimicking veins. She ran her finger along the cap at the head, wondering what it would feel like in her hand were it flesh and blood like the real thing. "Is this what they look like?" she asked her knowledgeable sister. "Men, I mean."

"More or less," Cecile replied, joining Frances on the bed. "They come in different shapes and sizes, you know, Franny. Sir Thomas was indebatably small," she added with not just a hint of her hallmark spitefulness. "Before he got his silly self shot in that hunting accident, that is," she added dismissively.

"Oh," Frances frowned, concentrating hard on the object and trying to imagine what Alexander would be like. "Not much to look at, is it?" she said after a moment of deliberation.

Cecile scoffed. "Good Gawd, don't tell them that! It's their pride and joy, that is!"

"And it goes... you know, inside?" Frances eyed the thing suspiciously.

Cecile giggled. "Often. There are other things that can be done but I suspect you'll be exploring them for yourself with your Earl soon enough," she teased.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only the first time. Don't worry, little Franny, when the time comes you'll discover a little pain is nothing compared to the raptures it can bring."

"I should very much like to find that out for myself," Frances snickered.

"With your Earl? He kissed you, did he not?" Frances nodded abashedly. "Did he make use of his tongue? They do that sometimes." Frances admitted that he had not but that she found the idea remarkably arousing. Cecy laughed again, "Just wait until you discover what else he may do with his tongue, if he possesses the talent!"

Frances blushed profusely at the whispered suggestion against her ear and looked to her sister disbelievingly. "They don't really?" The idea of Alexander doing such a thing made the center of her stomach drop about a foot and a half and a warm, anxious reaction spread outwards from between her thighs to her belly and legs, making both quiver.

Cecile nodded wisely. "It's true. I was with a man once who did it, and found it much to my pleasure as well as his. Did you feel that," she indicated the wooden shaft in Frances' hands, "in your Earl's breeches as he kissed you? Did he hold you tight enough that you could feel it firm up against you?"

"Yes," Frances affirmed, giggling as she buried her face in the coverlet and pounded her bare little feet against the pillows excitedly. "It felt more like a cannon running out for fire than this," she grinned, her face beaming bright red as she caressed the wooden shaft.

"Dear Lawd, my sister has a CANNON to contend with upon her wedding night!" Cecy quipped, laughing as hard as her sister. "Luck be with her!"

"Have you ever been in love, Cecy?" Frances asked, going suddenly serious as she studied the thing in her hand.

"Yes," Cecile answered definitely. "I loved Sir Thomas' riches, and I absolutely adored his lands. Honestly, Franny, when I was your age everything was love," she said waving her hand dramatically and falling against the pillows at the head of the bed. "Every silly whim, every infatuation, they all seemed like the most important, wonderful, immense sensations in the world. Especially the first," she nodded towards Frances. "But in time they all just wilted away."

"How do you know so many wicked things, Cecy?"

"Because I am a wicked wanton girl and you know it, little sister! Let's see what else is in the bag, shall we?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Edrington sat alone in the silence of his chamber. A surprisingly early autumn wind had permeated nightfall with a sharp chill, making the leather armchair besides the hearth and it's roaring fire the most comfortable place to be as he calmly sipped his brandy. It was no coincidence that this was also his favorite place to sit and think, for he had a lot of thinking to do this night.

That very morning he had awoken, convinced that his life would not change, that this girl arriving at Abberline Cross would be no different than any of the others. It would be 'So nice of you to come' and 'Thank you so very much but you are not what I'm looking for' or 'Better luck next time' as it had been several times in the past.

Now, less than twenty four hours later, that girl, who hadn't even possessed a name yesterday, was all he could think about. He had kissed her! He had most indecently, and after lecturing himself on the importance of discipline, lost control and kissed her, quite luridly hidden in shadow like two forbidden lovers meeting in secret. He ran his tongue along his lower lip, imagining he could taste her lips still, mingled with the seductive taste of the brandy. He imagined what it would be like to taste other parts of her, to cup her plump bosom in his eager hands, to press his lips to the soft flesh...

Dammit! He must stop this at once! Discipline, order and restraint, he thought, brushing aside a stray lock of his unruly curled hair, smoothing it down into his loose queue. He despised his hair, it reminded him too much of the wild nature inside of himself just begging, straining, commanding to be released. If only Frances was here with him now; he could just imagine the weight of her on his lap, the feel of her sweet mouth as she gave into his demanding kisses. He glanced down and realized he'd managed a magnificent erection in his rumination. 'Dammit, this will not do!' he insisted to himself, resolutely slamming his glass down upon the table beside him as if the very act would cast her from his mind forever.

He stood and strolled over to his luxurious bed. Drawing aside the curtains, he lay down atop the coverlet, still in his breeches though he'd removed his boots and stockings. She would be so soft settling her body down on the plush feather mattress beside him, so yielding as he climbed astride her, so pleasing as he whispered things to her: pleas, demands, promises of undying adoration. The heat building within him threatened to consume and incinerate him entirely in its fire, and his cock arched and strained against the fabric of his trousers begging for sweet release. Slowly, he slipped a hand inside the opened collar of his gaping shirt. His fingers caressed the fervent skin of his chest, imagining that they were her soft pink petal lips. His fingertips tickled the light covering of coarse blond hair there before moving to the side to fondle insistently the hard nub of his nipple. He moaned aloud, dreaming of her tongue there, tasting, teasing, tickling. He needed more. Slipping his hand out of his shirt and downwards towards his breeches, he loosened the lacing and slid his hand beneath the waistband. He gripped his manhood firmly, imagining how tight she'd be as he thrust into her for the first time. He began to imitate the movement against his hand, his hips moving in long, slow gyrations as he pumped himself, rotating his grasp around the column of flesh with alternating pressure, occasionally flicking his thumb against the juncture at the base of the smooth tip. She would open her thighs so wide for him, except him fully, wrap herself around him tenderly not because she was his wife and it was her duty to do so but because he was pleasing her, because she wanted more like he did, because she loved him as he loved and needed her. With the image of her sweet face in his mind, her imagined cries of bliss pounding in his brain, he came with a savage grunt, spilling his sticky essence into his hand.

Panting, he turned his head and rested his burning cheek against the coolness of his pillow, a few curling strands of his defiant hair coming loose of their confinement and falling about his face disobediently. No, this most certainly would not do. He had had his way with quite a few women in the past, but Frances was different. He craved her, as his woman, his lover, his wife. And his wife she would become, in that he was resolute. And soon, before he lost all semblance of self-control.

The thought made him smile: his wife. That wonderful, intelligent, beautiful creature pledging herself to him, loving him, and he doing the same. He was determined that he would make her the best of husbands; he would cherish her as no other man ever had, would or could. No man in all of England engaged in the fair pursuit of matrimony would be his equal. Love, he thought quirking an eyebrow slightly. He always thought on marriage as another duty to be performed as the Earl of Edrington, to continue his line with some daft cow popping out little Edringtons; however, love was completely unexpected. But really, it wasn't so bad. In fact, he was feeling quite splendid at the moment.


	4. Chapter 4

"Alexander!" Lady Edrington squawked, surprised at seeing her son enter the breakfast parlor early the next morning. The servants looked rather panicked as they bustled about, hurrying to find enough food to accommodate this unexpected member of the breakfast party and Hermione could hardly hide her shock as her son took a seat by the window, letting the dawning rays of sun fall in his golden hair and across his handsome face. "You've taken breakfast alone in your quarters since you were a boy! I say," his mother frowned, concerned, "you aren't feeling unwell, are you?"

"Perfectly fine, mother, I assure you," he responded dryly but now without his usual laconic tone. "Honestly, do stop staring as if I've come down with leprosy or some such thing. I'm only taking your advice to treat the Lady Eades and her daughters with the common courtesy that, as our guests, protocol demands."

"Indeed?" Hermione replied arching an eyebrow. She was beginning to catch on very quickly, for she was sly of mind and her scheming rarely ever came to anything when it came to her difficult son that when it did it became blaringly obvious alarmingly fast. "You find the young Miss Eades agreeable then? I myself found her to be quite charming..."

"Mother, please," Edrington sighed, "wile does not become you. I do find Miss Eades most positively agreeable. I plan to take her for a riding lesson today for she confided in me that she has never been taught, and, when we are far enough from the prying, conspiring eyes of Abberline Cross, I plan to propose to the girl. I'm aware that this has all been arranged beforehand but I'd prefer to do things the proper way." And how romantic it would be, he added to himself. He'd never considered himself a romantic, he'd always been a practical man, though he had played the romantic before for the delight of the lovely young ladies who had caught his fancy in one way or another in his youth but in the end they never lasted, not like Frances, they were never meant to. The idea of spiriting her off to some secluded glen on the grounds for a few salacious stolen kisses prior to kneeling before her and asking her to be his wife appealed to something deep inside of him; much more primal than his sarcastic character, much more potent than his disciplined reasoning.

Hermione recognized this new thing in him, this change. "I think she would very much like that," she said softly; no more scheming, no more designing, just a tenderness upon her keen noble features and an admiration for the gentleman her son had become. She placed her hand on his lightly for a moment then pulled away, sitting back in her chair in silent repose. "Your father and I had a very easy courtship as well. I knew from the moment I first laid eyes upon him that he was the one I wanted to spend my life with," she said after some time of thought. "You know, oftentimes you remind me very much of him. You two are exceedingly alike. He would be very proud of who you have become."

Alexander was speechless. His mother rarely if ever spoke of his father. To all the world outside, his parents' relationship had seemed cold, distanced. But though his father rarely let show his emotions, he knew how much they had loved each other; the way he had held her hand, the way he had gazed upon her on long winter nights just before they retired to bed had spoken of a deeper affection between the two that Alexander could not have ever comprehended until this moment in his life. He rested his chin in his hand and simply nodded to her, too overcome with sentiment to respond. Only Frances' entrance could have broken his pensive mood; she lit up the already sun dappled room with her presence, smiling bashfully when he stood to greet her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cecy had been in particularly dark humors that morning. Even her every effort to sabotage Frances' preparations, which included spilling powder on not one, not two but three of the dresses her younger sister had donned, forcing her to change three times, and hiding her stockings so as to make Morgianna and Frances play games in order to find them could cheer her into her usually gleeful wickedness. Gone was the teasing spirits of the night last, instead older sibling delighted in pulling the pins out of Frances' hair when Sophia had just finished doing it up and pinching hard the skin of her arms and hands.

"He doesn't love you," Cecy kept chiding. "He won't ever love such a dullard as you! And if ever he found out what you really were he'd have your neck stretched from the nearest tree he could find as quick as could be!"

But all of that seemed inconsequential when she entered the breakfast room and found Alexander there, waiting for her. Leisurely, he moved to accept her hand, raising it to his lips, his dark eyes watching her with a fiery intensity that made her tummy flutter.

"Miss Eades," he said, his low rich voice sending shock waves down her spine, "if you'll allow me." She nodded breathlessly, following his lead and taking a seat upon the chair he offered her at the small oval mahogany breakfast table. "You are looking exceedingly lovely today," he told her smoothly as he sat across from her, "if you would grant me the honor I would very much like to show you our stables today. Perhaps take you out for a ride as you have allowed that your instruction in that area has been somewhat neglected."

"I would like that very much, milord," she smiled, feeling the leather of his boot devilishly brush her ankle once again, hidden from the view of all the others by the tabletop. But this time she received a swift but painful jab from Cecy's shoe right into the tenderness of her heel. She scowled and turned to her elder sister, who was grinning nastily. "The sooner the better," she added rather curtly, turning from her sibling and refusing to look in her direction again, whatever provocation Cecy might offer.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frances wandered the stable as Alexander instructed one of the attendants to saddle up his favorite steed, a sleek black stallion by the name of Midnight. They were lovely animals, she had to admit, and she could see the attention Edrington paid to them in the careful grooming of their lustrous coats and the contented way the nickered softly and strutted about their stalls as she passed. One in particular caught her attention, a ginger and white mare that seemed to take a liking to her as well. It nudged her softly and she patted it gently on the muzzle.

"Seems you've found a familiar in our newest, my mother calls her Persephone for she was acquired in the springtime," Alexander said, coming up behind her.

"She's lovely. I think she must be my favorite," smiled Frances.

"She's yours then," Edrington said quickly, then he smiled as well, that wonderful quirk to the side of his lips that drove her to distraction. "When you're capable enough to ride on your own that is, she will be your mount, if you prefer her to the others."

"I do," she blushed. "You care for them so well."

"Horses are wonderful companionship if you treat them well enough," he responded. "But they cannot compare to the companionship I am blessed enough to occupy this morning." He moved closer until she could feel the heat of his body searing her own. "My lady," he said, raising her hand once again to his lips though this time he turned it in his own and kissed the palm. Even through the fabric of her gloves, she could feel the warm wet fever of his mouth. A delightful shiver ran through her. "I believe our mount awaits, if milady would do me the pleasure."

She nodded dumbly but nothing could have prepared her, no kiss they'd shared, no playful caress between them, for the feeling of being pulled up before him in the saddle, one strong arm wrapped possessively around her midsection, his other resting lightly on her thigh as he held the reign. He started them off at a shallow trot at first, letting her adjust to the feeling. Unconsciously, she pressed back further into him and his arm tightened around her as he assured her, his voice a mere husky whisper in her ear, "I won't let you fall, have no fear, milady." She let herself relax, surrendering to his control. There was no way to hide, with her up against him so firmly, her round supple bottom settled so soundly between his muscular thighs, the physical reaction his body was having to her closeness.

As he spurred Midnight's pace to quicken, the steady rocking rhythm of the gallop heightened Edrington's already over-stimulated senses. The more terrible the carnal urges she inspired, the faster he drove the horse on. Frances closed her eyes and bit her lip, losing herself in the wondrous, strange feelings she was experiencing, the Earl's hot breath against her neck in desperate pants making her flesh prickle. She rested her head back against his shoulder as his fingers splayed out across her stomach, his thumb brushing lightly the underside of the tempting generous swell of her breasts. His chest was solid against her back and his breath quickened considerably against her hair as they moved in sync with each other and the stallion's rhythmic bounding. Suddenly she felt them slow. She opened her eyes to see an inviting little meadow before them, the Earl's obvious destination. She turned her head to observe him and he gave her a quick small smile.

"What say we give Midnight a small break, eh?" he asked, his voice dangerously masculine. He kissed her hand and slipped out of the saddle behind her.

She was still breathless as he raised his arms to help her down. She braced her hands on his shoulders and he took her full waist in his strong grip and all but lifted her from Midnight's back and placed her on the ground; neither let go of the other any too quickly. Almost against his will, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in nearer to him while she kept her arms resting on his shoulders.

"I've a mat to sit on so you don't soil that pretty dress of yours," he said, running his hand down the patterned fabric draped upon her hip. The touch sent a thrill through her. He broke away finally and removed a woolen blanket from a saddlebag. He spread it before her on the ground and, taking her hands, helped her down. More as a nervous compulsion than anything else, she removed her gloves and straightened her skirt, smoothing the material around her crossed legs. He took a seat beside her on the blanket. In the sunlight, her hair shone like deep copper and her bright eyes sparkled as she looked upon him shyly. He was wrong in his original assessment of her beauty; she was dazzling. He reached over to brush a few wandering tresses from her forehead and found himself cupping her chin in his hand and drawing her lips closer to his. He kissed her softly, with a smoldering reserved affection, once, twice and again.

She flushed furiously and he smiled, placing a fingertip to the tip of her reddened nose. "I adore the way you blush," he told her. His finger trailed down her nose following the color, across her lips, ascending her chin and neck, drawing pattern across her breastbone to the valley between her impressive bosoms. Her color deepened as he pushed aside the netting of her neckline and bowed his head, pressing his lips to the soft exposed flesh of the top of her breast. The tiny intimate caress made her gasp aloud at the delicious indecency of it. "My lady," he said, trying desperately to control the passion evident in his voice, "please say you will do me the honor of becoming my wife."

"Of course," she laughed, though the slight quiver in her voice betrayed her calm amused temperament. Inside, her heart was fluttering wildly and joyously like a hummingbird's wings. "That is why I'm here, is it not?" He wanted her, truthfully this fantastically handsome gentleman wanted _her_. A flood of unfamiliar yet pleasant emotions washed over her, warming like the sun's golden rays. Maybe Cecy was right, maybe this was merely a silly young girl's first infatuation but she was convinced it would not wither to bitterness nor nothingness as her sister's had. She wouldn't let it. What she felt for Alexander, what he felt for her: it was real. The thought emboldened her so that she leaned forward and kissed him upon the mouth, a naive sort of a thing that nevertheless spoke of untold longings. "Oh my," she giggled, pulling away and putting her fingers to her swollen lips.

He smiled his wry, quirky smile and pulled her back to him for another kiss; this one was deeper, more wonderfully perilous than any before it. He skirted the seam of her luscious lips with his naughty tongue and instinctively she parted them, allowing him entrance. She was surprised at first by the rough hot stroke of him exploring her mouth, but she did not pull away. Instead she melted into his embrace, into his eager open-mouthed kiss. Gawd, she felt and tasted good, he thought as he enfolded her in his strong arms, pulling her against him, savoring the feel her breasts crushed provocatively against his chest; the feel of her nipples tighten and peak even through their many layers of clothing was unmistakable and undeniably seductive. "You are so lovely," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek. "I've something for you," he said, pressing his lips to her wrist and standing, reluctantly pulling away from the touch of her warm body. He sauntered over to the horse and once again reached into the saddlebag, searching for something.

Frances could have watched him the entire time, the way the muscles of his powerful thighs and perfect backside tensed and strained against the fabric of his breeches as he moved, the erect deliberate beguiling manner in which he walked, the way his tightly restrained hair shone in the sunlight like threads of gold, had something else not drawn her attention: A raven, perched curiously on a rock a few yards away. It regarded her with its black eyes, cocking its head to one side. It seemed so unnatural, so out of place in this garden of beauty, bold and mocking in its otherworldly stance. "Mama," Frances whispered angrily, screwing her jaw in annoyance. She took a nearby rock into her hand and hurled it at the bird, which promptly flew away just as the stone winged its shoulder. "Teach you not to eavesdrop!" she said huffily under her breath. She quickly turned back to Alexander, brightening her expression as if nothing had happened at all as he approached.

Kneeling beside her, he once again took her hand in his. This time he produced a small package, a tiny object folded in a royal blue velvet cloth. He opened the cloth to reveal a beautiful jeweled antique ring. "It was my great-grandmother's engagement ring," he explained, placing it on her finger. It was a trifle loose but she wasn't about to fuss over it. "I'd like you to wear it now." He kissed her fingers gently and lay back upon the blanket, supporting his head with his forearm, wrapping his other around her waist and urging her down with him. With a smile she acceded to his silent entreaty and settled up against him, resting her head against his chest. He shifted for a moment, making sure she would not become aware of nor come into contact with the distinct throbbing solidification of his groin. She busied herself toying with the gold plate buttons on his jacket and rubbing her cheek against the woolen fabric, which only served to send fresh surges of lust to his over wrought nether regions. He had to find a distraction, quickly. "Did you enjoy your ride?" Poor question, he thought as soon as the words had left his mouth, for all he could think on was the ride _he_ would give her upon their wedding night. "Was it your first?" Dammit, another one!

"We don't have many horses at Eades House," she conceded, concentrating on one button in particular. "Not since papa.... My Father was thrown from a horse, that's how... why he passed. I was very young when mama banished horses, all save those whose purpose was to work or pull the carriages, from the estate."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, petting her hair comfortingly. "My Father died when I was young as well, eleven as a matter of fact. We were never close, he always had so many expectations for me, but... I always felt he was proud of me."

"And all of this... it's been your responsibility since?" she asked, ceasing her play. He nodded solemnly. It had always been his duty, his obligation, his burden and he'd never given it much of a thought. But the sad sympathetic tone in her voice, the soft understanding as if there were something as monumental weighing upon her delicate shoulders, moved him. She lifted her head to gaze into his glittering onyx eyes. "Poor Alexander, I miss my papa too," she said softly, sending a thrill through him as she used his Christian name for the first time. She caressed his cheek with her fingers and he drew her closer to him, this time not ashamed to let her feel how much he craved her. "Kiss me, as you did before," she said, a note of excitement in her voice. He took her face in his hand and pressed his mouth to hers. This time she was ready and eager for this new type of kiss he'd introduced her to, her responsive lips parting for him anxiously and instantly. His tongue took sanctuary inside the warmth of her mouth, grazing her own, coaxing it into playing his game. And she liked this depraved game, especially when he took her waist in his hands, pressed her back flat against the blanket and rolled atop her. The evidence of his need pressed firmly against her pliant thighs and grew as she surrendered sweetly to him.

"You taste so good," he whispered with a fiendish smirk. He cupped one of the ample mounds of her breasts in his hand and squeezed gently, pushing the flesh upwards while working her gown's neckline downwards, exposing partly her desire darkened nipple. He pressed light sucking kisses against her newly bared flesh, sending a jolt of electricity through her veins; never in her life had she, even when Cecy was describing it to her, imagined something so delectable, so pleasurable as the feel of his mouth sampling her there. She felt as if she might go mad if he didn't stop, the pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain. She gasped violently throwing her head back and forth as he ran his tongue around her rosy aureole and she arched her back against him as he flicked his steamy wet touch against the distended bud at its center. Good Gawd, he wanted more, he wanted all of her. He returned his mouth to hers for a slow, deep kiss.

"We should be getting back," he said hoarsely, panting as he nibbled and sucked upon her bottom lip. She nodded, her face flushed not with embarrassment this time but with arousal, her lips bruised from his passionate attentions. Her breathing was heavy as her mind raced with every one of Cecy's lewd intimations from the previous night; she wondered if that's what he wanted to do to her now. She was surprised when he actually rolled off of her and stood, helping her up with him and dusting the bits of dried grass her dress had managed to pick up. A lesser man wouldn't have thought twice about taking advantage of her then and there, especially now that she was pledged to him completely; even she of assumed innocence knew that. Who would ever be the wiser? But Alexander was a man of extraordinary character; he was resolute that he would not take his gratification of her before they were wedded, no matter how demanding his desire. It would only make what he planned for her upon the night of their wedding ever the more appetizing. He wanted the time to savor her, to feel and taste every part of her, to pleasure her and himself. Frances herself couldn't help but feel at least a little disappointed, the funny tickling in her tummy and between her legs being rather persistent. Oh well, at least they still had the ride back to Abberline Cross, she thought with a devilish grin.


	5. Chapter 5

"Can it be true what I've heard?" a familiar voice boomed in the hallway just outside of Alexander's study. The young Earl turned in surprise at the welcome sound and smirked when he caught sight of his old friend, Joseph St. John Whyte-Harris. One of the biggest disgraces known to His Majesty's Marines, the fifth son of a Viscount, he was a man of less than average height, a bit of a roguish character of around Alexander's age whom the Earl had made quick friends with when he had first joined the service many years ago. His shock of ginger colored hair, which was in disarray as usual, was off set by a pair of lucid gray green eyes set into fair skin. The man leaned forward through the doorway playfully, keeping his hands on the jamb on either side. "Could it be," he continued with a twinkle in his eyes, "that his most respected Lordship, otherwise known to his comrades in arms as... what was it again, Xander? Ah yes, `The Bodice Ripper', Ripper for short as I remember it, is engaged to be married?!"

"You have indeed heard correctly," Alexander smirked. "Though I do not remember that particular moniker having such unseemly origins. And if you think for one second, you scoundrel, that I'm letting you anywhere near my innocent young bride you are sorely mistaken!" The two men laughed and embraced, Joseph giving Alexander a hearty pat on the back. "How have you been, Whytie?"

"Apparently no worse than you, from what I hear," the man grinned. "Marriage, it's a serious business, and an arranged one at that. Still, I s'pose you were always somewhat more sober and dutiful than all the rest of us put together, Major. Or is it Lieutenant Colonel yet?"

"Still Major," Edrington answered with a nod. "And you, Captain?"

"As grand a commission as my Father's money could buy me," replied Joseph with a chuckle, "and as far as I'll get, farther than I would have gotten using what God granted me! So, tell me of this innocent young thing of yours, is she comely?"

"Not in the traditional sense," Alexander said, smiling to himself in remembrance of the way the sunlight set her hair afire, "but I find her to be quite handsome, and with a very pleasing personality and an intellect as well!"

"An intellect to boot! A rare find indeed!" Joseph said emphatically, taking a seat in the plush leather armchair facing the Earl's desk, propping his soiled boots up onto the flat surface of the solid oaken piece of furniture and crossing his arms across his chest. "She doesn't perchance have a sister, does she?"

"She does, and I would wish that tigress upon no man," Alexander responded, handing his friend a brandy and taking a seat behind his desk. "Even the likes of you," he added with a dark glare.

"Why I thank you, though this `tigress' as you call her sounds like just my kind of woman! Always were the luckiest sodding bastard of the bunch of us," Joseph shook his head in mock disgust, running his hand through his dark orange hair. "The looks, the brains, the title; certainly didn't put the ladies off, did it?" he grinned. "So does this innocent young creature of yours have a name?"

"Miss Frances Eades, if you must know," Alexander replied, taking a sip of his brandy. He stopped in mid taste as Whytie suddenly sat upright in the leather chair, his face going ashen white. "What is it, what's wrong?" Edrington asked, frowning.

"Not the daughter of Lady Morgianna Eades?" Joseph asked, his mouth going dry at the suggestion. When Alexander assured him she was the very one, the ginger haired man whistled low and mournfully through his teeth. "Good luck to you then." Whytie was reluctant to elaborate but Alexander pressed on determinedly and finally, he gave in: "Men who marry into that family, they don't exactly have the longest of lives, my friend. There has been talk. First Lord Eades, mysteriously thrown from a horse that knew him and its surroundings well, then the tigress' first husband, Edmund Alleyns, then her second's, Sir Thomas Wardsoame, hunting accident. It's a bad business, that."

"You know I do not approve of listening to idle prattle and gossip, Whytie," Alexander scowled dismissively though he liked not what he was hearing in the least; Cecy might be a spoilt viscous brat, and Lady Morgianna might have given him a distinct feeling of discomfort whenever she was around but they were to be his family by marriage and he did not like such suggestions being bandied about. Even if he had certain suspicions of his own. But surely no one suspected his Frances in any foul play? "Accidents happen."

"And men who marry into that family tend to be prone to them," Joseph responded quietly. "I've heard tell that the Lady Eades can be quite persuasive and that her ambitions can be positively dangerous to one's health. There are also other things, Ripper, rumors of witchcraft and unnatural doings."

At that Alexander scoffed. "Come now, Whytie. Witchcraft? Surely you are not a irrational man?"

"I didn't say I believed them, Ripper," he said defensively. "I'm only telling you what I've heard. Sir Wardsoame was no saint, believe you me, and I do not envy the woman who would marry him, tigress or not. I'm just telling you to be wary. Your innocent young thing may be as good as gold, but do not turn your back on her family. It just might prove perilous."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Cecy, open the door," Frances entreated her sister, slumping against the doorframe of her sibling's locked bedchambers. "I've something I must share with someone, don't you want to hear? He did more than kiss me, Cecy. It's all quite indecent, aren't you the least bit curious? Please open up so we may talk," she sighed, tracing patterns with her finger against the door's smooth wood grain. She tried again, "There is a man here, Cecy, a friend of Lord Edrington's. He is quite handsome and I'm informed quite available, don't you want to meet him?" No reply. "Cecy, the valise is missing from my room, and today in the field where my Earl and I sat, a raven appeared of most unnatural countenance! I don't know why you're angry with me, but I want to talk." Again there came no reply. "Cecy, you are a stubborn, spoilt child and I hate you!" A voice, muffled by the heavy door sounded a distinctive `go away'. "Fine have it your way! I don't want to talk to you anyway. After the way you behaved this morning, I'm surprised the Lord and Lady Edrington don't throw you out of their home like so much rubbish!" `Things will change when _I_ am Lady of this estate, Cecy, just you wait and see,' she thought to herself. Suddenly she noticed her mother standing a little ways down the hall, watching attentively. She had her robe wrapped around her tightly, her arms folded beneath it and Frances wondered if she'd hurt her when she'd hurled that stone. "I suppose you are angry with me as well?" she accused her mother with a biting wounded tone as tears began to flow down her flushed cheeks.

Morgianna swayed noticeably and had to brace herself against the wall with her hand to keep from tumbling to the ground. "I am so very weary," she said in a low soft tone. Frances ran to her immediately, wrapping a small short arm around her mother's solid waist and helping her back to her chambers. They looked quite the pair, the diminutive girl supporting the weight of her mother's stately, tall frame as they limped together to a soft elegant chair positioned before the hearth in Morgianna's quarters. "I've grown so tired," the woman said, groaning as she sat as if all her joints ached at once and her body was about to give up on her. Looking upon her, Frances saw a woman she barely recognized: old, haggard, deep circles surrounding her usually vibrant violet eyes, the silver in her hair more prominent than ever. For once, the spectral force that usually radiated from her seemed to falter and what was left was a broken aged woman, her shoulders slumping under the weight of all she had carried for so many years.

Frances took her mother's hand carefully and gave it a soft kiss. Could the spell she must have performed earlier to transfigure herself into that raven taken so much out of her? She decided not to bring up the subject, not in Morgianna's current state, nor that of the missing valise. "You need your rest, mama," she said gently, all the previous anger she'd felt towards the woman tempered by the sympathy she felt now. "I'll ask Sophia to bring your supper up here." She stood to leave but her mother caught her hand and held her back.

"You know I only try to protect you?" the older woman said desperately, sadly. "I only ever try to protect the both of you."

"I know, mama," Frances said tenderly. She kissed her on the forehead. "You rest now." She stole one last glance back at her mother as she exited, Morgianna seemed to be deep in thought, a heavy shadow hanging about her as she sat meditatively staring into the licking flames of the fire. What could it be, what could be wrong? Was it fear she had caught there in her mother's clouded eyes? The thought gave her a chill as she turned and left.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frances little excursion to the library had started as an attempt to find something to occupy her unmistakably distraught mother's mind, a little light reading, a book of Shakespeare's love sonnets perhaps. But curiosity had gotten the better of her when she had spotted a small stack of books, clearly recently read and returned, awaiting the chance to be put back upon the shelves in their respective places. The pile was neat, stacked precisely and carefully by someone who obviously cared for them, something she'd expect of Alexander, so she fancied having a look at them. Feeling as if she were doing something wicked, as if she were spying into the man's very personal affairs themselves, she crept over to where the books lay and picked a few up to examine them. "Find what you were looking for?" a smooth warm voice smirked from behind her unexpectedly, causing her to cry aloud in alarm and drop some of the books. She turned to meet with Alexander's amused stare, her face bright red with the discomfort of being caught, as if she were a child caught with her hand in the sweets jar.

"I was just... you see I was looking," she said with a loud sigh, waving her hands about as she tried to come up with an excuse. He crossed his arms against his chest and wore an expression of mock seriousness as she stuttered, studying her face carefully. "I got bored and since you were with your friend and it appears that Cecy is not talking to me, again, I thought I'd come in here and find... Actually, that's a lie. Not a huge one granted as my original intention in coming in here was to find a book for myself, well, in fact my mother, to pass the time, and I saw these books here and I thought they might be yours and I... wanted to see what type of thing you liked to read," she admitted bashfully. "No harm done, except for, oh dear, I seem to have thrown them on the floor." She smiled tentatively and knelt down quickly to gather the fallen books.

Edrington couldn't contain his laughter anymore; it left his throat in a soothing boom like the oddly calming rumble of thunder from a distant storm. He moved towards her and, kneeling besides her to help in her hurried task, regarded her with dark eyes. He caught her chin in his hand and smoothed his thumb over her luscious bottom lip. "What is the judgment?" he asked softly, his eyes sparkling with playfulness.

"William Shakespeare's Henry V," Frances said, holding up one of the leather bound volumes, "this is expected, as well as Richard III. But I must admit these somewhat surprised me," she smiled, picking a few more out of the toppled pile, "Smollett, Swift. I had no idea you had a taste for the satirists, nor Smollett's rather... ribald sense of humor."

"Are you shocked?" he asked with a hint of humor in his tone.

"Intrigued," she amended shyly.

"As am I," replied Alexander with a hint of a smirk, "as to what my Lady prefers by way of the written word."

Frances scoffed, "Naught so thought provoking, I'm fear. I like romances, the Arthurian traditions. You're not... disappointed, are you?" she asked, uncertainty shaping her face's soft features.

"No," he told her resolutely, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers, "no not at all. It suits you."

"A hopeless fanciful romantic," she laughed in a meek self-deprecating way. "That's me."

His heart lurched at the modest manner in which she spoke of herself. He took the books from her hands and placed them on a table top, pulling her to her feet and into his embrace. "A wonderful, exquisite, ravishing," she blushed deeply as he used the word and tried to pull back somewhat but his tight grip around her waist would not let her, "hopeless, fanciful romantic." He placed his lips to the side of her neck, nibbling softly, pulling at the tender skin with small sucking kisses. She was too hard on herself, he realized, she seemed to have little or no confidence in her worth; how charming she was, how lively, how stimulating. He wondered remotely if that was her bitch of a sister's doing, he had watched the elder sibling torment his beloved all morning with a growing displeasure for the woman. Frances seemed so delicate sometimes, so fragile, and yet beneath that he seemed to catch glimpses of something much stronger, much sterner than she appeared to be. He wondered how many layers she had and if he were to peel them all back like an onion, what would he find underneath: a tender vulnerable heart or an interior of steel. Either way, he knew he wanted her, all of her, and her mystery only served to heighten that. "Do you not wonder why there were no romances in my reading?"

She was playing absently with the braiding on his jacket. "Because you are much to sensible for such silly things?"

"Because I hadn't met you yet," he told her, his voice a low throaty velvet growl; his hot breath sending shivers down her back as it gently caressed her neck and jaw. "And now I fear I will never be able to read one for nothing in those asinine affronts to the human intellect could compare with my true love." His breath became ragged as once again his body began to respond to the closeness of her sensual body, and yet he did not let her go. He laughed at his own lack of self-control when she was near and she gasped aloud, obviously as affected as he as the rush of air from his breath tickled her flesh. What had he done in his lifetime to deserve such a reward as this lovely, bright woman in his arms? He held her tighter to him, feeling the extraordinarily yielding weight of her large breasts bear into his chest.

"I guess you will just have to use your imagination then," she returned in a husky whisper.

He chuckled, sending waves of titillation through her. "Oh, I have been, I can assure my Lady of that much. Ever since yesterday, in the rose garden, I have been exercising my imagination quite a bit." This game he was playing with himself was beginning to get a bit dangerous. He'd never dishonor her before their wedding, of this he was quite sure; but the scandalous things he'd done to her out in that meadow were the product of his loss of self-control. That seemed to happen a lot when she was around, which both terrified and excited him. Even now his groin ached at the thought of the taste he'd had of her, and doing it again and again to even more intimate parts of her body until she screamed out his name in ecstasy. He moved his lips to hers and kissed them softly, tenderly; a kiss that held a vow of things to come but seemed to promise as well: `Soon, my love.' He pulled away, chastely kissing her forehead before slipping completely from her embrace, causing her to smile at him warmly; a smile that made his heart beat all the faster. "Now, let's see if we can't find you a book for your mother."

She turned away from him to the shelves, her body still burning where it had made contact with his. She began to search through the rows of books, running her index finger along the well-kept spines as she read each title. She came to one and scoffed audibly as she removed it from its place and held it up to Alexander, who was searching upon a different shelf: Cotton Mather on Witchcraft. "You don't strike me as the superstitious type, milord," she said a hint of something unidentifiable in her voice; contempt?

"That drivel?" Alexander snorted. "It's my mother's," he said waving his hand dismissively, "she likes to read such ridiculous, incredible things. I've no preference for it."

"So milord is far too practical to believe in such absurd things as witches?" she asked, her strange manner oddly unchanged from her previous statement.

"Humph?" he said thoughtfully as he pulled a book from the shelf himself. "Quite, yes." He held up the book he was leafing through, Malory's Le Mort D'Arthur. "Here we have one of your favorites, a tale complete with a vengeful sorceress, a witch if you will. In popular version of the legend, she is Morgan Le Fay, half sister to the King who no less changes her form to that of her brother's wife so that she may lay with him. Now I ask you, what rational man would believe such things were possible," he said with a playful chuckle, as if the whole idea was too ridiculous for him to even conceive. Frances couldn't blame him; it would sound ridiculous to her as well if she didn't hold the wealth of knowledge on the subject that she did.

"Body transmogrification," she said under her breath, "and it doesn't work quite the way the legend suggests." Not quite able to hear her, Alexander inquired as to what she had just spoken and she evaded the question, sorry she'd let the comment slip from her lips in the first place, with an uneasily joking, "Nothing. Just babbling to myself. I think I've found the book," she smiled, showing him a book of Shakespeare's sonnets. "Better get this up to mama."

He caught her arm as she moved to leave and peered intensely into her smoky eyes. He couldn't help but feel as if he'd offended her somehow when he'd only sought to amuse her. "I'll see you at dinner then?" he asked, the yearning to be with her again unspoken but evident in the eager gaze within his dark eyes. She smiled so sweetly, her seductive pink lips inviting another kiss which he gladly bestowed upon her, once, twice, thrice, before letting her go again.

"At dinner then," she told him, running a finger across his jaw line. He placed one more kiss upon her fingertip and she turned to leave, glancing back at him longingly once, her skirts swirling ethereally behind her as she swept out of the room. Perhaps there was such thing as witchcraft, for she had surely bewitched him, he thought with a wry quirk to his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

Candlelight flickered seductively as Frances entered the dining hall. Alexander's dark, attentive gaze met her as she glided in and he rose to meet her. It had been a month since she'd come to the Edrington estate and yet that stare never failed to provoke a thrill in her nor did he ever falter in his wicked stare whenever she was around; if anything it has become more intense the nearer their wedding drew. A giggle from the corner of the room drew her attention for a moment and she turned her head gracefully to see Alexander's friend, Joseph Whyte-Harris, engaged in some indiscreet game with Cecy, whispering back and forth, laughing at unheard but surely unseemly things said in secret. Lady Hermione's look of disapproval was obvious though largely ignored as the two continued their play.

Morgianna was taking dinner in her room tonight, as she did every night now. Whatever illness she suffered from, whatever ailed her, it seemed to be getting worse and her mother seemed to deteriorate more and more before her very eyes day after day, and she felt helpless to stop it for Morgianna would not even confide in her as to what was wrong. The concern must have been evident on her face for she felt Alexander's gentle caress upon her cheek and the softness of his tone as he spoke. "My Lady looks lovely tonight," he said with a small quirk to his mouth, his stare intense as it wandered from her eyes to her bosom and back again. "My Lady looks lovely every night for indeed I cannot imagine her ever looking dreadful. Do not be worried on her," he read her thoughts. "I'm sure in time she will recover to her full self. Come, sit with me, my love."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was two in the morning and Frances could not sleep. Was it any wonder with the resonant sounds of Cecile's rapture coming again and again in waves through the thick walls of her bedchamber? High pitched giggling, low, deep, moans; it had been this way ever since Cecy had decided to take a liking to Whyte-Harris about a week and a half ago. Trying to busy herself, to occupy her mind instead of dwelling on the intonations of bliss coming from her sister's room, she thought back to their curious meeting. Cecy had ignored him, and had made quite a show of ignoring him, after all he was *only* the fifth son of a viscount. And yet she had overheard a most peculiar exchange between the two later on, when they had thought they were alone. `So it is true?' he had asked and Cecy had confirmed whatever it was he'd been asking on. `What can you do?' he had inquired or something to that effect for Frances had felt as if she'd missed something important by coming into the conversation late. `Close the door and I'll show you,' Cecy had responded coyly. The door had been firmly shut and with no further inclination to spy, Frances had left it at that.

A particularly loud cry from Cecy sent Frances from her bed. If she wasn't about to get any sleep, she saw no use in lying there listening to her sister being pleasured. She threw on a wrap and, not even knowing where she was going to go, left her room. Inquisitiveness stopped her from leaving the sitting room that connected the three women's bedding chambers and brought her to Cecy's door. She knelt and tried to peer in the keyhole but alas, that did not work the way that fiction suggested. "Voir l'oeil," she whispered and a small hole appeared only for her, a transparent spot in brass lock allowing her to peer in without herself being detected. Cecy sat in an armchair by the hearth, the roaring fire casting brilliant orange shadows in her shining golden hair. Her lacy shift was bunched up about her waist, her thighs spread wide to accommodate a ginger colored head, which moved hungrily between her parted legs. The look on Cecy's face was one of sheer ecstasy as she anchored herself with one hand clutching the back of the chair and the other tangled in Whytie's fiery hair, clutching desperately at him and pulling him closer as her hips bucked against his face, moving in an ever increasing cadence. His hand was upon her party exposed bosom, manipulating the rosy hardened peak with his clever fingers while cupping the mound of soft flesh. Wetness seeped between Frances' thighs picturing Alexander and herself in the same position, and a dull throb began to form in the bottom of her tummy. Cecy arched against his mouth and cried out euphorically, thrashing her head from side to side and Frances had to bite her lip from groaning aloud, so vivid was her imaginings of she and Alexander together.

Frances became tired of watching, so distinct her need to be with Alexander, emotionally and physically, had become. She stood and wandered off, out of the sitting room into the dark corridor, her mind lost in sinful thought. She found a window and peered out at the clear moonlight, the dead and dying leaves of autumn clinging desperately to their branches in lost hope as the crisp wind rattled and dared them to fall. She had no idea how long she had stood there, gazing out into the dark night, but by the time she returned to their quarters, Cecy and Whyte-Harris were quite and an eerie silence permeated the still hallway.

She jumped as something grabbed her arm, turning quickly to see that it was only her mother, her once majestic face now hollow and old, her hair almost completely gone white. And her eyes, there was something in them now that Frances had not seen before; the usually keen violet had become clouded with a muddy brownish color. Her grip was tight though, strong for an ailing woman. Too tight, it had begun to hurt Frances. "What are you doing about?" she asked sharply as Frances shook herself from the older woman's grip.

"I couldn't sleep, mama," Frances replied defensively, frowning and rubbing the sore skin and muscle where her mother had held her.

"Were you spying on your sister?" Morgianna asked, something so odd in her voice, some strange inflection that made Frances grimace. Could this be... was this really her mother? What strange affliction had taken her that her own daughter did not, could not know her? Could it be a magical malady? It must have been for this woman before her was intangible, unrecognizable. She was broken and ill yet there seemed to be something inside of her, driving her actions almost against her will.

"N-no!" Frances insisted. "I wouldn't! I was just..."

"Liar!" Morgianna sneered, drawing her hand back and hitting Frances with such unnatural strength across the face her feet left the ground as she fell backwards onto the fine Turkish rug of the floor. Wounded to the core, daughter looked to mother; angry, hurt, confused, silently stroking her hand across the stinging place where she'd been struck. "Do you think I cannot tell when you have been casting? I have put up with your lies for far too long now; coddled you, spoiled you, pampered, indulged. You are nothing, do you hear me?" the woman spat out and before she could stop herself, Frances felt hot tears spilling over her burning cheeks. "You have no real power; you are naught but a simpering, mawkish, stupid little girl flitting about like a ninny. Did you really think the Earl of Edrington would take to a simpleton such as you, that he would love you? He will marry you and use you up and the moment he gets bored, he will take another to his bed and leave you to raise the brats he planted in your womb! That is the way men are, Franny, that was the way your father was. Did you think he loved you, Franny? Did you think I did?"

Frances could stand to hear no more. Sobbing loudly and openly now, she stumbled to her feet and ran down the corridor in the opposite direction from her mother, her viscous mocking words still following her as she went. She felt sick as if she had taken a blow to the stomach and her mind was spinning with the impact of her mother's unexpected and uncharacteristic cruelty. "Franny," Morgianna called weakly though she knew her daughter was too far off to hear, sagging tiredly against the wall. "Do not listen, my little one. I fear I cannot protect you anymore," she murmured as her body gave way and she fell to the floor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Four-thirty and Alexander could find no rest in sleep. He rose from his bed and sauntered over to the hearth, stoking up the embers of the fire, placing another log on the growing blaze and taking a seat in his favorite thinking chair. Dawn was but mere hours away; he had already slept some but had awoken with a sense of the unknown and had not been able to sleep again. And so he decided to wait it out. There was peace to be found at this time, the servants were not yet up bustling about and even his father's beloved hounds were adrift in dreaming. A sudden knock upon his door, soft, hesitant, jolted him out of his calm reverie. He frowned, standing and strolling through his boudoir, across the adjacent sitting room to the entrance to his chambers. He had no idea who or what he was expecting to find on the other side of the heavy wooden door, but the sight of Frances, her small form barely clothed and trembling gently, gave him a start. Her fall of silken strawberry hair was loose, cascading down her shoulders and breast and hiding nearly all of her face though he could still see enough, though just barely, to tell her eyes were rimmed red from crying. He felt his heart sink into his stomach, quickly he ran to grab a blanket from his bed and returned to wrap it around her, drawing his arms around her. "Tell me what is wrong, Frances," he said gently, brushing the hair from her eyes. His hand stopped suddenly when he saw the already purpling swollen mark across her cheek. He realized his hand was trembling with rage as he drew her closer, cradling her head to his chest, stroking her hair tenderly, compassionately. "Tell me who did this to you," he asked of her, his voice both soft with solace and hard with his growing rage. Who ever did this, who ever touched her in this way would pay dearly for it. She began to sob quietly, her shoulders moving slightly up and down in his embrace.

Worriedly, he held one hand across her shoulders while the other hooked under the curve of the back of her knees, sweeping her up easily into his arms. He carried her huddled closely to his warm body into his bedchamber and laid her on the bed. "It wasn't her, it couldn't have been her," she kept repeating as he drew the covers up around her and placed a kiss upon her forehead. He took a blanket and made ready to settle himself on a nearby couch but she caught his hand in hers and pulled on it gently, her smoky eyes cloudy with her bitter and hurt tears and a relentless anguish. "Don't leave me; please," she said imploringly. "Don't leave me."

He nodded, understanding what she needed. He climbed into the bed next to her and took her into his arms again, rocking her as he nuzzled her hair whispering things to her; words of love, of consolation. Her body was soft and warm beneath his touch, free from the rigid confinements of her gowns and stays, and a need spread within him like wildfire. But it was not the ache he usually experienced when she was near, when he was holding her. The urgency he usually felt was not present; his want was not physical but emotional. He desired so badly to make things right; to comfort her, to make her realize just how much he adored her and to exact revenge upon whoever had dared do this to her. She burrowed into his chest as he pet her hair delicately, placing kisses into the soft strawberry colored mass, wondering at its softness. "I won't leave you, Frances. Ever," he said, his voice low and rich like velvet, sweet and soft as caramel. "Tell me who did this, my love."

Her sniffling had begun to subside and he felt her body relax in his tight grip as peace began to wash over her in waves. "She didn't mean to," she replied, her words so quiet he had to strain to hear them. "I know she didn't mean to do it. Wasn't like her, her eyes were different... somehow. Mama."

Her mother! Her own mother had struck her! Fury swelled within his breast. Had he not been holding Frances so tenderly he would've confronted the woman now, cast her out of his house and made sure she never returned. Had she hit her before? The thought only served to strengthened his wrath. He knew one thing for sure: the bitch would never do it again! But more important for the time being was the quivering girl resting within his arms; requital would wait, his job at the moment was to comfort her, to love her. "Shhhhhh," he soothed, stroking a hand down along her spine again and again. She snuggled even closer into him, her breath evening as sleep took her. "I'm here my love and I'll never leave you. I'll protect you, I promise."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He watched her sleeping, her face awash with serenity even as the place where she'd been hit bruised black and purple. He stayed with her until well after dawn, part of him frightened that if he moved he would rouse her, part of him not wanting to let her go. She looked so small, so fragile it made his heart throb. Finally he decided it was time to do what he knew he must. Disentangling himself somewhat reluctantly from her possessive embrace, he slid out of bed and dressed. He pressed a kiss to her innocently parted lips before departing, promising her silently he would be back before she awoke.

With black purpose he stalked through the halls of Abberline Cross, to the breakfast parlor where he knew his mother would be sitting. "She must be thrown from this place immediately," he said before Lady Hermione could question the animosity flashing in her son's dark eyes. "This Lady Morgianna Eades," he spat out the name with contempt, "she must be gone at once or by God I will cast her out with my own two hands!"

"I'm afraid," Lady Edrington said hesitantly, her voice part sadness part confusion, "that that has become unavoidable, Alexander, though I cannot imagine what she has done to raise your ire so. The Lady Eades is dead. Her lady's maid found her collapsed upon the floor outside her quarters this morning."


	7. Chapter 7

"What are you doing?" Cecy asked as she entered her mother's former bedding chamber, narrowly dodging a flying garment as she passed through the doorway. "I thought you were supposed to be packing these things up for their journey back to Eades house, but you seem to be doing quite the opposite," she observed, catching another article of clothing as it hurled towards her. She examined the item with a snicker and held it up for her sister to see. In her hand dangled a lacy purple garter. "Who knew mama had such garish taste in unmentionables?" she chuckled, searching about the floor for the thing that had almost hit her when she had strolled in and, in triumph; she scooped it off the ground and swung it about on one finger. "And look a matching corset and stays! Really, Franny, you should keep these. Your Earl strikes me as the type who might enjoy something like these!"

"Oh you're in fine form this day, Cecy," Frances snorted, crawling around on her hands and knees as she abandoned the trunk she'd been searching through to investigate the boxes hidden beneath the bed. "Just help me look, will you?"

Cecy knelt beside her, her skirts billowing playfully as she sat. "What are we looking for?" she asked, the thrill of subterfuge apparent in her voice.

"Mama's `things'," Frances told her rather tersely. "Her Shadow Books and the black valise with the tools of her trade in it."

"I thought you had the valise," Cecy frowned.

"I did," sighed Frances, "and it was taken from my room. I was convinced mama took it back but I can't find it anywhere. Her books are missing as well. Do you understand what that means?" Cecy just shrugged, awaiting her sister's explanation with a curious expression. "Cecy, the woman who did this to me," she indicated the now rather darkened bruise across her cheek and at the corner of her mouth, "that was not mama. Never in my one and twenty years had she ever had the inclination to hit me, or to say those things to me. No that was not her."

Cecy's breath caught dramatically. "Body transmogrification? Come now, Franny. It takes a very powerful witch to do such a thing."

"Exactly!" Frances answered. "A witch powerful enough to invade a beldam as forceful as mama for I do not think it was transmogrification so much as it was... a possession of some sort. Oh, I remember reading about it in her Shadow Books but now I can't find them! Imagine the skill that takes, for transmogrification is naught but an extremely potent form of a glimmer, the most common form of majick. Indeed you use it every morning to color that mousy brown hair of yours golden... and don't look at me that way, as if you're surprised I know, I'm not a imbecile you know, I do pay attention. But possession, I don't think even mama could have done that. But you see that was the genius of it; `I'll always protect you', `I only ever try to protect the both of you', that's what she kept saying to me. She must have known, and she must have been casting strong protection majicks for us and that made her weak. You saw how she suffered, the mysterious illness that had overcome her. She was being drained, and that allowed for the possession! Or perhaps it was a trait or characteristic of the possession, I do not know, that's why I have to find the books! Her eyes, they were so different that night." She gasped suddenly, making Cecy jump. "Oh Cecy, I think it might have even happened to you! That morning, when you had it in your head to torment me, you had said the same types of things: `He won't love you', `He can't love you', a nitwit, a ninny."

"You are serious about this?" Cecy asked skeptically.

"Yes! Where are her books, where is her valise? Someone has taken them!"

"But who would do such a thing?"

"Mama was a mighty sorceress, the head of her clan, the Farrar one. I don't know, a rival perhaps," Frances shrugged, "or someone she has vexed. It could be anyone," she said biting her lip in worried thought.

"Anyone," echoed Cecy. "So what do we do about it?"

"I don't know," admitted Frances with a grimace. "Mama had duplicates of her Shadow Books. When we return to Eades House to lay her in the crypt, I'll retrieve them. Perhaps they can yield some sort of clue as to what we're dealing with."

Cecy sighed and gently placed her arms around her sister, hugging her close. "Don't worry. Let big sister take care of it now. I'll protect you, I promise."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the month that Frances and her sister, Dame Wardsoame, were gone, the younger had entrusted to Lady Hermione Edrington the planning of the wedding. This had kept the woman pleasantly occupied while her son dwelt on his future bride's absence; he felt it keenly as if a significant part of his body had been severed from him. He had wanted desperately to accompany her but she had insisted otherwise, citing something about ritual. He wondered absently how he would handle it when he was once again called to duty, as he surely would be so long as this blasted war with France lasted. He had heard of officer's wives following them to the front; it was exceptional but still not unheard of. "Oh do try to cheer up, Ripper," Whytie chided him as they sat in Alexander's study having a sip of brandy, celebrating his recent promotion to Major. "She's not gone forever, you know. And besides," he sniffed, "it's not as if you are the only one suffering."

"Yes," Alexander said slyly. "And how is the tigress treating you, eh?"

"Well enough," Whyte-Harris grinned. He raised his glass to his promotion and, with a secret knowing smile, repeated, "Well enough."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was late when Frances returned to Abberline Cross on the Edrington Estate. She left Sophia to unpack her belongings in her bedchamber while she retired to the library where Lady Hermione had seen to it that a roaring fire was waiting for her. She curled up in on a sofa besides the hearth and drew one of the newly acquired Shadow Books of her mama's onto her lap. Her mother had hid them well within Eades House, but they had been open to any who knew the right incantations to find them as Frances had. Carefully, she leafed through the browned aged pages of the volume, hoping to come across that half remembered passage she had read when she was younger, the one on body possession. The book, written in many different languages by many different hands, was only a part of the vast collection of knowledge gathered over the centuries by the Farrar clan (often called Fairer or Fairy in the wording) and was at times extremely difficult to read, whether by fault of a shaky pen or a now forgotten and dead tongue. It also meant that the book was in no specific order, it could skip from one subject to another within the span of a few pages returning to the first subject a hundred pages (or years) later. Still Frances skimmed through it determinedly, taking particular interest in the notes on transmogrification. So engrossed was she in the ancient and often cryptic text that she failed to hear the library door open and close carefully behind her nor the footsteps approaching.

"I thought I'd heard you arriving," Alexander's smooth voice said suddenly, breaking both the serene silence of the large room and Frances' intense concentration. She squealed, dropping the book to the floor and rising quickly simultaneously; too quickly in fact for she caught her knee on the sharp end of the sofa and banged it hard, causing her to fall back down onto the plush cushions of the couch with a small curse. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said rushing to sit besides her, restraining a small chuckle.

"I'm glad you find my injury amusing, milord," she huffed in a somewhat wounded tone.

"My poor baby, does it hurt?" he asked, an uncommon wicked gleam in his dark eyes, which shone like jewels by the light of the fire. "Give it here," he said with a hint of a smirk and he grabbed her by the ankle and hiked up her skirt and rubbed his hand upwards along her calf to her smarting knee, "I'll make it better." He massaged his hand gently around the stockinged kneecap, soothing delicately. "Is that better?"

She was already blushing from head to toe. Each stroke of his deft fingers brought a tingle to her skin that had begun to spread upwards to her tummy and the now damp juncture between her thighs. "Slightly," she said grudgingly, though the small smile widening at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. She gasped pleasantly as he lowered his head and kissed her there, still using his fingers to caress, his breath practically melting the silk of her stocking where his hot lips touched.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, continuing his attentions. "I missed you very much," he told her between gentle loving kisses against her knee while his fingers began to work higher. "Did... everything go well?"

"The funeral, you mean?" she asked, sadly nodding her head. "It went as planned. It is over now, my mother's at rest."

"I'm sorry." And he was; that she had to go through all of that, the loss of another parent but he could not say he was sorry after what he had seen of her mother, what she was capable of doing to her own daughter, that the woman was dead. His fingertips brushed the inside of her thigh.

"Why? It's not your fault," she said softly, her breath quickening.

"Were you busy, before I interrupted you?" He glanced to the book lying upon the floor. Her eyes widened, frightened he'd catch a glimpse of what it was. Briskly, she pushed it under the sofa with the heel of her foot and assured him he was not interrupting her. Delicately, he took her ankles in his gentle grip, lifted them and placed them across his lap so she was now lying across him as well as the sofa. He in turn shifted so he was lying next to her upon the loveseat, his body pressing wonderfully against her side, his burgeoning manhood pressed against her hip. His hand remained beneath her skirt, playfully exploring. Teasingly, he ran his fingertip along the edge of her garter as his mouth sought hers in a hungry kiss. He decided drinking in her inexpert but passionate kisses was the single most delicious thing he'd ever experienced as he nibbled upon her full bottom lip. His hand was getting dangerously close to the ultimate treasure; that warmest sweetest most tempting part of her beautiful body. He knew if he continued his upward ascent there would be no stopping, no control or restraint to pull him back at the last moment, not this time.

To his surprise she voiced his deepest, most hidden thoughts, "Do you want to make love to me, Alexander?" She placed her hand atop of his where it lay cupping and messaging her breast. Her nipple peaked so hard beneath the fabric of her dress it ached. "I want you to make love to me."

"I want to make love to you," he told her almost unconsciously as he feasted upon her lips, confessing his heart's most intimate desire. They both gasped as his fingertips brushed skin, the sensitive spot just above her stocking. He groaned, sinking into a deep kiss as he rubbed his knuckles against the moist cleft of her sex, delighting in the feel of her body's desire induced moisture and the coarse hair that modestly hid her the wet folds of her femininity. He realized it was too late; he had to have her, to possess her in some way. "Do you know," he whispered huskily into the ticklish shell of her ear, his burning breath making her shiver in delight, "how many sleepless night you have inspired? How many times I lay awake dreaming of your body beneath mine in my bed?"

His finger snaked between the slippery pouty lips of her sex and caressed the tender skin within. She gasped violently and arched against him as he massaged the taut nubbin of flesh he found there, her thighs falling apart seemingly of their own will. A groan tore from his throat as he nuzzled her hair, aroused to the point of madness by her responsiveness. He was the first man to touch her, to bring her pleasure, he thought with a smile and an ardent sense of pride. But what kind of barbarian would he be, if he were just to lift his skirts and satisfy himself as his stiffened cock begged him to do? Still, there were other things he could do, he grinned wickedly as his finger continued its dance against her satiny skin and her hard clit.

"But I can't," he told her, "not just yet. Do you trust me, Frances?"

"Yes, of course I do," she managed to pant out as pleasure coursed through her again and again as Alexander stroked her most secret parts. Of course, Cecy had tried to tell her how wonderful it felt to have a man do such things to you but she couldn't have fully understood it up until that moment. "I love you."

"Good girl," he grinned, kissing her softly. His name came from her lips on a question as he slowly hiked her skirts up to her waist; all the while his finger remained within her teasing her hard little pearl of desire. "Shhhhhh," he told her with a kiss before moving his body so he lay between her parted legs. He urged her thighs further apart and images of Whytie and Cecy the night she spied on them swam about in Frances' head. Prior to that point, she could've imagined nothing quite as wanton as the play of his finger against her private skin. That was until she felt the tip of his tongue, so very hot and so very wet, lick along the wet slit of her womanhood. She cried out, arching ever the more violently off of the sofa.

Parting her lips with his thumbs, he lightly touched his tongue to her clit, stimulating a wild cry from her lips. He drew the bud of flesh between his lips and began to suckle, each new and keening cry of rapture his actions roused from her throat sending thrills through him. He lapped at her salty skin, running his tongue through her folds like she was made of melted ice cream, the tangy flavor of her making his head spin. His thick, hungry tongue began to circle her firm nub of pleasure in a hard, steady motion as his finger worked their way downwards to her body's entrance. His finger smoothed around the outside of the dripping tunnel, completely aware of what it would mean to proceed. He continued to sup at her juices as his finger gently began to explore, soothing her membrane with her own slick wetness. Finally he decided it was time; if he did this now, she would be able to enjoy their wedding night as much as he. A second finger joined the first as he thrust in roughly, breaking through her maidenhood. She cried out as the pain shot through her like lightning; he tried to ease it somewhat with his tongue's greedy attentions to her clitoris. A mixture of blood and her body's spending covered his hand as he began to thrust his fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm and he drank in both. In neither of their wildest fantasies had they imagined something as wonderful, as utterly delicious as this perverse union. He started to rub the pulsating bulge in his trousers against her smooth stockinged leg like a dog in heat, rocking against her desperately.

He proceeded to consume and suck her up while he added a third finger inside of her, stretching her tight virgin sheath as far as it would go. It was almost more than she could take; loud animal noises were pouring from her throat like a fountain of honey and she couldn't stop her hips from bucking against his mouth and hand in fixed measure with his finger's voracious plunges. All she could perceive, the only sensations that existed in the world to her was the feel was his demanding fingers sliding in and out of her and his tongue appeasing its craving for her, slurping her up ravenously. The throbbing in his groin could no longer be ignored; sliding his hand down the waistband of his breeches he gripped his rigid prick and stroked himself with his other hand in time to their joining. He wanted to feel her hand on him, fondling his long throbbing dick, taking him into between her full luscious lips.

Frances didn't even understand what she was feeling when her womb began to tighten, when the tension between her legs built to an unbearable level and bliss started to wash over her like a tidal wave, but she wasn't frightened of it either. She surrendered herself to it, letting the eruption within her carry her off into swirling colorful places she never even knew existed; and all the while she was aware that Alexander was doing this to her, that he was pleasuring her to his own rapture as well as hers, just as Cecy had told her. She cried out one last time as she came, feeling his fingers bury themselves deep inside her core. He continued to devour her, tasting her essence mixed with the blood of the loss of her innocence as her muscles contracted around him rapturously. He groaned as he, with the help of her satisfied moans, brought himself to bliss, spilling his hot cum into his hand.

Breathing heavily, he once again lay beside her on the sofa, his mouth and chin shiny with her body's desire. Good Gawd, he realized the sight of her blood on his hand would probably cause her to swoon. He quickly removed a handkerchief from a pocket but before he could wipe his fingers clean she caught his wrist to prevent it. Her eyes were wide but her complexion did not pale but seemed instead to flush more so. "Is that me?" she asked breathlessly.

"It's just the once, my sweet, your first time," he assured her, kissing her insatiably. She ran her tongue along his lips curiously, tasting herself and he answered the question that sprang into her bright eyes with a wry, lecherous grin. "Aye, that's your flavor, love; delectable. And I fully intend to savor it," he said nipping upon her bottom lip. He laid his head upon her breast, planting small sucking kisses along her ample plump décolletage. "I love you," he whispered as she softly pet his tightly confined hair. He raised himself above her, supporting his weight upon his arms which rested on either side of her head and she fully expected an invitation to his bed. But in its stead he just smiled, kissing her gratefully and telling her, "When we wed, I will make love to you as a man ought to, I promise."

She smiled, running the back of her hand along his jaw. They held each other for some time with their bodies still shaken and quivering and warm from the wondrous earth shattering joyance and gratification both had experienced from each other. When Franny had begun to fall asleep, he swept her into his arms and carried her to her bedding chamber. The last thing she remembered was him laying her carefully on her coverlet and kissing her lovingly on the forehead. Wasn't there something she was forgetting? Something she left in the library? Oh well, if she had forgotten it probably wasn't that important anyways, she thought as she drifted into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Frances awoke with a sweet smile upon her lips the next morning, turning her face to the golden sunlight that was now filtering through the opened drapes. She was somewhat disappointed to find that Alexander had not slept besides her for she wanted nothing more than to share what she was feeling with him at this moment. Grinning widely she ran her hand languidly down her bosom and across her belly where she still felt the lingering rumbles of the pleasure he had given her. True, she was a touch sore but the thought of his fingers and mouth bringing her to bliss seemed to wash away any discomfort she was feeling.

The sound of the chamber door opening quietly drew her attention away from last nights escapades and she sat up to see Sophia entering cautiously as she tried to determine whether or not her mistress still slept, carrying a breakfast tray in her arms. "Ah, good morning, miss," the young woman smiled when she caught sight of Frances. "You missed the morning supping so I saved you what I could; enough to fill your belly I am sure."

Frances knew what she wanted filling her belly and it didn't rest upon that tray but she accepted the food gratefully anyhow, remembering she hadn't eaten last night. Sophia helped her undress, thankfully asking no questions, and dress again for the new day ahead. She left when Cecy entered and dismissed her rather urgently, glancing at her sister anxiously. "So?" prompted the elder when the two were alone.

"Oh, Cecy," Frances cried giddily, "you'll never guess what happened last night."

"Have you found it then?"

"Found... it?" Frances frowned. Suddenly realization dawned on her; what was forgotten in the haze of delectation was now once again remembered. "The book!" she cried out in distress. "I've left it in the library! I was... we were... Eh Gods, Cecile, what if someone finds it?!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Looking for something, dear?" a voice startled Frances as she crawled on hand and knee, searching frantically underneath the sofa Edrington and she had made love upon just the night before for her precious book. She bolted upright to find the Lady Edrington regarding her curiously; her shrewd lucid eyes seemed to see right through her. What was it with this family?! Did they enjoy sneaking up on people unawares and scaring the wits from them?

"I was just... you see I lost my...." something made Frances stop there. The book was gone, that she was certain of for she'd spent the better quarter of an hour on her knees searching for it. What if it was the Lady who had found it? What if she knew? And to admit to being the owner of such a manual would be incriminating to say the least! Something in the way she looked upon the younger woman made Frances' heart freeze; that keen icy stare so unflinching. "I lost a ring, I thought it might have fallen off last night when I was in here... alone," she added quickly. "But as I can't seem to find it I must be mistaken."

"If it is found I'll be sure it is returned to you right away," the Lady said warming just ever so slightly. "Now, come, the seamstress is up from the village to fit your mother's wedding dress to you. Mustn't keep her waiting. And afterwards, we simply must discuss the invitations..."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What do you mean you've lost it?!" Cecy raged, throwing the pillows about her bed in a fit. "I left you with it for naught but an hour or so and you managed to lose the demmed thing?! Can I trust you to do nothing right?!"

"I told you," Frances said defensively, "Lord Edrington distracted me!"

"Just bloody wonderful, Franny, you silly ninny!" Cecy snorted. "Your Earl decides to have a go with you and you forget all your senses! Anyone could have the book by now and all you can think on is your beloved Lord and your precious wedding, with your fittings and your invitations! We need that book!" she shouted taking hold of Frances' arm and giving her a good shake.

"I know!" Frances yelled back. "But my wedding is in a week and I must prepare. Honestly, would it not look suspicious if I was not playing the part of the blushing bride?"

"Playing? *Playing*?" Cecy gave a humorless laugh. "I know how you play; you cannot wait to get you cherished Earl between those little pretty thighs of yours."

"You're one to talk," retorted Franny. "Mama was wasting away before our very eyes, dying, and all you could do was have sport with Alexander's friend, Whyte-Harris!" This was getting them nowhere, this pointless sisterly bickering, and Frances knew it. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself and let it out in a prolonged sigh. "Things will proceed as normal. There is nothing we can do. If our hidden enemy truly has the Shadow Book then I have a feeling they will reveal themselves to us sooner our later no matter what course of action we take. If it is held by another who knows or suspects as to what it is, we only serve to make ourselves look suspicious if we do not follow the routine we have been and we are expected to. Are we agreed?" Begrudgingly, Cecy assented. But Frances could not help but feel an odd sense of disorder; chaos, as if something was at work which she could not quite grasp at. It filled her with foreboding.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A thin layer of snow had fallen during the night and it seemed to Frances as she gazed out the parlor window that all the world was covered in sparkling diamonds, the barren trees and once green grounds shimmering with frost in the mid day sun. She sighed leaning against the window frame, more worried about the Shadow Book's disappearing act than she'd let on with Cecy. It was a strange instinct she had gotten when the two of them had been alone together, but she wasn't entirely sure she could trust her sister fully anymore. Suddenly she felt strong warm arms curl around her from behind and, without hesitation, leaned into Edrington's tender embrace. "You looked so pensive," he whispered into her ear, a hint of a smile to his tone, his hot breath against her chilled skin making her quiver. She turned in the circle of his arms so she faced him and smiled sweetly, resting her cheek against his sturdy chest. He pet her hair lovingly as he continued to murmur to her in that gentle manner which never failed to make her want to tell him everything, "Are you worried about the wedding, my love?"

She shook her head and curved her neck back so she could gaze upon his face. His eyes were darker than usual, partly from arousal, but there was something else as well; concern? "Was it... what happened last night?" he asked with much difficulty. "I have taken liberties with you, it is inexcusable. I had had too many brandies and seeing you again, well, I took leave of my senses. I should not have..." She silenced him, putting her fingers to his lips.

"What we did last night was wonderful, milord," she said earnestly as a blush began to spread across her cheeks and down her bosom. The mere thought of his tongue and fingers between her legs made her ache for him there and moisture spread between her thighs. "Will you do it to me again, on our wedding night?"

"That and a thousand other things, my sweet," he promised, obviously relieved that it was not his love making that was the cause of her distress.

"And will... *that* happen again?" she inquired bashfully. "The euphoria I felt."

"With me? Always," he grinned his wry quirky grin, looking rather rakish. "Only without the pain from now on, I promise. You will feel only pleasure in my bed." He laughed as she turned a color as bright as his regimental jacket and kissed her delicately on the lips. "I think I shall not be able to stand the wedding; never liked the things. Always such big, boring, pompous affairs. It'll be all I can do to keep from falling asleep on my feet." She giggled as he tickled her playfully just below her breast. "But," he said, his voice smooth as satin as he absently brushed a few stray locks of her strawberry hair from her brow, "our wedding night I shall never want to end." He found his hand had somehow wandered from her face and was now toying with the dainty pearl accentuation on her bodice. His fingers brushed her nipple through the thick fabric of her gown and he could feel it tighten and respond automatically. She bit her lip to stifle a tiny gasp, trying to hide from him the indications of her growing desire.

His mind was reeling with the heady scent of her mounting passion. She was so lovely, so compliant to his touch; so submissive it didn't take long for his mind to start conjuring images of things he could do to her; with his fingers, his tongue. The mere idea of tasting her again made his member grow stiff within the limits of his breeches until they became unbearably tight. One more week he told himself, just one more week of this sweet torture and then there would be no boundaries on his lust. He kissed her again, sucking on her luscious bottom lip for a moment before he pulled away from her. From the flush on her cheeks and look in her evergreen eyes: excited, eager and somewhat afraid, he could tell she had felt the swelling evidence of his craving for her where it had pressed against her hip. He suggested they take a walk, hoping the brisk winter air would cool both of their burning libidos down.


	9. Chapter 9

"'Unusual' she told me," Edrington said darkly, downing his glass of wine rather rapidly and running his hand over his tightly suppressed golden curls," 'eccentric'. She understated." Looking around he found the splendid ballroom at Abberline Cross packed to the walls with Frances' quite bizarre relatives; brightly dressed, bawdy, and in particularly strange spirits, they looked as if by some unknown magic, the fairy world had opened up and spat them out upon Edrington Estate. It wasn't hard to imagine that some of them had indeed arrived on broomsticks flown across the clear winter sky, or had crawled from the very depths of the otherworld just to attend the wedding. "I was not prepared for this."

"Come come, now, old man," his younger brother, James, said jovially giving him a hearty pat on the back and handing him another glass of wine. "Cheer up, eh? If the in-laws come with the bride, I think they're worth the patience."

Alexander had to agree with a hint of a smile. The bride: Frances. His, always after the ceremony this afternoon. Really just for that one moment when he first caught sight of her walking down the aisle, her pale antique silk gown off-setting her deep green eyes, wild strawberry hair and creamy skin this whole dreadful affair seemed worth it. The way she had smiled at him, had pledged herself to him before man and God. He scanned the room for her finding once again that she was still disappeared. And with all one thousand of her `eccentric' relatives descending on anyone who would listen he couldn't really blame her for making her escape. He wondered if she'd already gone to their bedchamber. The thought aroused him to the point where he had to shift in his chair to hide his now raging erection. "Where's Whytie gone off to?" he asked grumpily as he realized now more than ever he wanted to get away. "Damned unsporting of a `best man' to abandon me like this!"

"Indeed, I saw him sneak off with that shrew of a sister-by-law of yours sometime ago," James smiled, a mischievous twinkle to his bright sea green eyes.

"How is it I do not remember your wedding being quite this dreadful," Alexander snorted.

"Because, old man, you weren't the groom!" laughed his brother. "Go on, sneak off. I know you want to go to her, go find her. I'll fend off the masses, leave them to me!" He laughed again and Alexander wondered how this carefree, lighthearted man could possibly be his very own flesh and blood.

"Good man," he smiled. "and James... thank you." His younger sibling gave him a mock salute and one last laugh as the Earl stood and sneaked off, disappearing into the throng of chattering people.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frances sighed, glad to be away from the overwhelming, suffocating crowd of her family and the sneering, underhanded glances of Edringtons. The back stairwell was dark and quiet where she sat on the bottom step, her gown bunched around her feet carelessly. She was pouting. She always thought her wedding would be so terribly romantic, just her and her lover holding hands, joining together for life. But in reality all she'd been doing all day was satisfying everyone else's needs and curiosities; catering to their hopes, their expectations. She'd hardly seen Alexander all day. She felt somewhat guilty about leaving him in the ballroom to deal with their guests but she just couldn't take it anymore. She had just wanted to be alone with him and yet it seemed that the crowd had been pulling her farther and farther away from him. It wasn't fair!

Suddenly, a noise drew her attention; a giggle? Silently, she tiptoed over to the slightly aslant door to the nearby breakfast room and peered inside. Two figures were pressed against a wall, undulating and moving in sync with each other's passionate motions. It was too dark to see their features but Frances could plainly make out that the woman's skirts were hiked up about her waist and the man's hips were positioned in between her parted thighs, thrusting forward in a desperate manner. Frances guessed his trousers must have been unbuttoned in the front, for he was still to the naked eye fully dressed, allowing his manhood access to the woman's soft and eager sex. Moans came airily from the woman's throat as she moved to meet each of her partner's penetrations. `Well,' Frances thought, `at least some of us are having fun.'

She was about to turn away when a sound caught her ear; the man had spoken. His voice was low and growling, thick with pleasure and instantly familiar: Edrington's friend Whyte-Harris. Was that Cecy with him? Frances squinted against the darkness, making out first her sister's fine gown then her tumble of hair like a golden waterfall shimmering in what little of the cold night's dim moonlight that managed to infiltrate the room. What was he saying? She couldn't quite hear:

"... your sister."

"She's none of your business," Cecy replied rather sharply, hissing with delight. "Leave her..." Inaudible again.

"... Alexander?"

"... your plans... Not fair... leave..."

At that point, Frances could tell that Cecy's moment of bliss was upon her for she started to buck against him wildly and call his name into the darkness again and again. Feeling rather embarrassed that she had watched for so long but rather uncomfortable at the snips of conversation she had overheard, Frances retreated, her earlier uncertain, uneasy instinct about her sibling wrenching at her stomach. She dreaded going back to the ballroom so she decided instead to retire to their bedchamber and wait for Alexander there. And when he came to her she would be ready, she thought with a grin.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frances' frock lay crumpled on the floor in front of the roaring fire as she frantically struggled to get free of her stays. She loved the smell Alexander's quarters; the rugged scent of his masculine musk combined with the heavy alluring fragrance of sandalwood. It made her more than a little giddy and light headed as she undressed with the help of Sophia. Technically, her chambers lay across from his connected by a small breakfast room but she got the extremely delicious feeling that she wouldn't be spending many lonely nights in there alone; this is where she belonged, sleeping beside her beloved. She heard heavy footsteps approach the attached sitting room and shooed Sophia out through the breakfast room, her heart pounding out of her chest as the door at the entrance to the chambers opened and shut quietly. She took a deep breath and placed a hand upon her stomach, trying to calm the fluttering inside. She laid herself upon the bed but then wondered if that were not just a tad obvious. Too late now she thought as the footfalls reached the bedroom door and stepped inside.

His face lit up when he saw her laying there, his eyes dark with desire drinking in the sight of her greedily. She wore only her nearly transparent shift, allowing his gaze access to every natural curve and appetizing recess of her voluptuous body. She stretched her arms up and rested them provocatively behind her head, the tantalizing effect the movement had on her full breasts making his mouth water, her hair fanned out upon the bed around her while she positioned her legs like a lounging beauty in a romantic Renaissance painting. She giggled, her smile making his heart thrash against his ribcage. "Do I look wanton enough?" she asked mischievously.

He laughed as he stalked towards her like a tiger with its prey in sight, quickly and expertly undoing his cravat. He removed his topcoat, then his waistcoat feeling his erection riding hard against the heavy woolen fabric of his trousers as he kept his hungry stare fixed on this luscious person sprawled across his bed. He felt like a starved man gazing upon a banquet; a banquet he would soon be savoring and feasting upon gluttonously. He chuckled, kicking off his shoes as he neared the bed and suddenly he was beside her, licking his lips as he looked down upon her lovingly and lustfully. Her breath quickened considerably.

"You look beautiful," he told her throatily as he grabbed hold of the hem of her camisole and tugged it up over her body.

She lifted herself, allowing him to remove it completely from her and blushing as she realized she now lay naked before him for the first time. His careful, lascivious scrutiny of every inch of her exposed skin sending a thrill through her and making her flush crimson at the same time.

"You do blush all the way down," he smiled, running his warm hand across her cheek, down the arch of her neck, between the ample bared spheres of her breasts, down her sweetly rounded belly to the thatch of coarse strawberry colored hair at the coupling of her thighs. His voice was thick and smooth with desire as he told her, "A most attractive trait." Her coloring only deepened.

He took hold of his shirt and yanked it up over his head, revealing to her her first glimpse of his naked flesh. He was magnificently toned, sleekly muscular, his tanned skin glistening in the firelight with a thin sheen of sweat and covered with a fine dusting of curling light blond hair. She reached out to touch him and hesitated at the last moment, losing her nerve. He grinned, taking hold of her wrist and pressing her hand firmly against his chest. She could feel his heart thundering beneath her palm. Emboldened, she moved her hand across him, brushing her fingertips across the hard stubs of his nipples, exploring the thin golden covering of hair over the flat plane of his stomach, feeling his muscles jump under her caress as a gasp escaped his lips.

He`d never experienced this before, this gentle discovering; all the women he'd taken to bed before Frances had been well aware of the many delights of the male body. But his young bride with her careful exploration of him was driving him mad with longing. Taking a deep breath she summoned enough courage to move downwards to that fascinating and seductive swelling in his breeches. She cupped him, feeling to her amazement him harden further underneath her touch. He groaned, a low deep sound reverberating from his throat, as he rubbed the mound of his most intimate part against her palm, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. She met his voracious gaze unflinchingly, using her pink tongue to moisten her dry lips enticingly; she wasn't afraid of him or his body's reaction to her. Behind her virgin blush was a craving as deep and insatiable as his own.

Grinning languorously, he removed her hand from him and carefully climbed onto the bed over her body, mounting her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pressed his mouth to hers violently, his tongue penetrating her lips insistently, taunting her own into dancing with it as he drank in the heady flavor of her kiss. His hands found her breasts, cupping, grasping desperately the globes of soft flesh. He circled his thumbs around the darkened aureole, tracing the veins visible through the delicate skin surrounding her nipples with feather light touches of his fingertips. She gasped as he lowered his head and began tracing the thin faint blue lines with his tongue, slowly making his way towards the center. Her nipples tightened and throbbed as he neared. He placed a deep wet kiss upon the blossoming bud, covering it with his mouth's warm wetness and pulled back, pursed his lips into an `o' shape and gently blew his cool breath onto the saturated nub. It puckered aggressively as he teased it with the soft flow of air of his exhalation and she arched her back off the bed with a maddening cry, offering her sweet flesh for him to devour. Smiling wickedly, he turned his face slightly and brushed the stiffened peak against his cheek, the slight stubble there prickling the already aching knob. She called out a wordless plea, lost in this insane assault of pleasure he was inflicting on her. Finally, acquiescing to her moaning demands, he deliberately grazed the plump tip of her passion engorged nipple with his teeth, catching it between his pearly whites and giving it a delicate tug. Frances keened her enjoyment, thrashing her head to and fro against the bed's feathery pillows.

Not ever in her most feverish fantasies had she dreamt up something so depraved as what he was doing to her now, and never would she have dreamt it would feel so unbelievably scrumptious. Finally he drew the fat nipple between his lips and suckled her fiercely, his tongue laving its tip between long sensuous sups. He wrapped his arms around her rounded waist, pulling her closer to him so he could feel every gasp, every sound of pleasure she made vibrating through him as he gorged himself on her. She groaned, placing her hands firmly on the back of his head and pushing him further into her flesh. Once he'd glutted himself on that one he turned to its twin and delighted the luscious little thing with the same attentions.

He moved up to her mouth again, claiming it as his own as her tingling distended nipples bore into his chest, tantalized and tickled by the crinkling of golden hair that brushed against them every time he moved. "You are so beautiful," he told her huskily as he gazed adoringly into her eyes, gently brushing the hair from her brow. Any words she could have said at that moment got lost within her throat as she reached up and undid the ribbon of his queue. His gorgeous curling hair like spun gold came spilling down around his face and shoulders and he growled in delight as she ran her fingers through it in fascination. It was so achingly soft, shining in the wild orange light cast from the fire flaxen. He bent his head to kiss her again as she combed her fingers eagerly through his yellow twisted tresses. He twirled a lock around his finger and teased her nose with the end of it, making her giggle.

He lifted himself up slightly, balancing his weight on his arms as they bore into the bed on either side of her waist, so he could look at her body once more. Her full breasts were now shimmering in the flickering firelight with the dew of his saliva like rose petals in the early morn. His eyes were drawn ever more downward to the enticing patch of strawberry colored curls betwixt her thighs. He licked his lips, remembering the enjoyment of her salty essence mixed with the copper of her virgin blood as he drank from her. His raging hard-on was begging him to just spread her legs and ride her until his seed burst forth from him into her womb, but that's not what he wanted. He wanted to savor her, he wanted tenderness and loving. For he did love her, more than he ever thought possible, more than he'd ever loved anything in his life. And this insatiable appetite for her was born of that love. Kissing her, gazing into her eyes he realized she felt the same way. She had probably never been loved in her life and he wanted to correct that. He wanted to love her enough for ten people, for her dead father, for her absent mother, for her abusive sister, for each and every one of those relatives that showed up at the wedding most of whom she was probably meeting for the first time today; make her feel wanted, cherished, adored.

Her thighs separated for him at the slightest stroke of his fingers. Grasping her knees, he widened her for him as he placed himself between her legs. He placed greedy sucking kisses along her belly and across the crisp strawberry hair that demurely hid the swollen lips of her sex. Sliding his hands beneath her buttocks, he positioned her hips to receive his mouth. His tongue darted into the slippery folds, lapping at her, relishing the tangy taste of her. Soon he'd gone deeper, burying his mouth within the satiny walls of her womanhood. It was almost more than she could bear; the feel of his tongue, rough like a cat's yet as smooth as gossamer, licking her up, the slurping sound of his ravenous sucking and the sound of him swallowing as he gulped down her creamy juices, his lips coming close to but always skirting around that quivering bundle of nerves begging for his attention. Finally he went even deeper, plunging his face into her, his talented tongue claiming the entrance to her body, lunging in as his nose rubbed her clit. She nearly shrieked at the sensation, biting her lip as ecstasy immersed her in its thick honey-like haze. She began to rock against him and his tongue conformed to her hips' steady rhythm, thrusting in just as she surged upwards. His nose caressed and fondled her taut clitoris, which was readying to explode with sensation when the moment came, grinding against it harder with every pleasurable cry she uttered as tension began to coil within her womb and she writhed against him in the throes of bliss. Taking hold of her, he carefully turned them both over so he now lay on his back and she riding his face on her hands and knees. His hands showed her the rhythm to follow and she lunged herself against him, begging him to continue this wicked act forever with soft moans and pleasing cries. The wet noise of his mouth's joining with her mingled with the feel of his nose fucking her hard made her come like a lightning storm, rapture shooting through her body like an eruption as her thick spendings drenched his face.

He turned them over so once again he was atop her and her arms flew around his neck as he came to rest against her. He could feel the dampness of tears as she burrowed her face into his neck and stroked her hair tenderly as he held her tightly. She was panting heavily, her body still shaking from the force of her explosive orgasm as he licked her from his mouth and chin. He kissed her and once more she tasted herself on his lips. He took her hand in his and placed it on his throbbing groin, his erection growing painful as it commanded attention, staring bluntly into her eyes as he told her, "I can't wait anymore, my love, I want you... *need* you now."

There was nothing in the world she wanted more at that moment than to feel his cock buried deep inside of her. She nodded for her mouth was too dry to speak and he began to undo the buttons of his trousers. He slid them off and was revealed to her in the all together for the first but surely not the last time. His thighs were muscular and well defined, his penis not overly long but thick and hard as it stood out proudly and rigidly from its nest of golden curls to his groin. He gave a low lusty chuckle at her sharp intake of breath. "Do you find me beautiful, my love?"

"Magnificent," she told him breathlessly as she took in the sight of his fully erect cock. The wooden effigy paled drastically in comparison to the real thing with its smooth fleshy cap glistening with droplets of his body's moisture and the broad shaft with its beautiful veined flesh stretched to its limits. Without hesitation she touched him, curiously stroking her palm down his pulsating rod inviting a deep guttural groan from his throat as his hips bucked unconsciously against her hand. She rubbed her thumb across the juncture at the base of the head up the tip. She drew her hand away and sucked her wet digit into her mouth, tasting his potent male flavor. Almost growling, he pulled her underneath him, pulling her knees up around his waist so she could take more of him in, his crimson crowned prick brushed the hot wet silk of her core a moment before he pushed in with a loud grunt. He groaned, throwing his head back as he sank into her, her tight sheath constricting around his passion engorged dick.

Frances stared at him wide eyed, unable to comprehend the amazing sensation and emotion of having him inside her, filling a void she never even knew existed within her. He was the missing part of her, she realized now, and she could never be whole again without him. He began to move, keeping his thrusts shallow; just deep enough to have her panting for more, not deep enough to make her come. Gently he held her to him as he penetrated the very center of her, the desperate sound of her voice repeating his name over and over driving him on. Steadily his rhythm grew as his pleasure did. He went deeper and deeper into her until he was plunging into her madly; grasping her hips to steady her against his thrusts, his fingertips digging into her supple flesh, praising himself silently now for having the foresight enough to have purged her of her maidenhead in advance so she would enjoy this as much as he was.

Savage noises flew freely from both their throats as they moved against each other, their sweat-slicked bodies meeting again and again in their passionate union. His strong embrace around her, his powerful cock thrusting into her until all she could feel was him sliding in and out of her easily, lubricated in her body's slick juices, his oh so gentle kisses like summer rain against her lips and cheeks and eyelids. She wrapped her legs around his waist and took him as deeply as he would go. Suddenly the world was falling away from her and something much more forceful than anything she'd ever experienced before was rocking her body. She surrendered to it, to him, grabbing hold of him as her orgasm ripped through her like a whirlwind of fire, her senses flashing and swirling before her eyes in bright brilliant colors. Rapture took her and he felt himself teetering on the brink, her muscles squeezing and milking him, messaging his ultra-sensitive member. He pushed in twice more before biting back a roar and spilling into her his hot sticky seed. She felt him shoot into her womb and trickle down her thighs as he continued to thrust with each ejaculation, pumping every last drop of his cum into her.

His lungs grasping for air he collapsed atop of her, careful not to crush her with his weight. He felt her fingers in his hair, caressing lovingly the perspiration dampened locks as their lips met once more; this time their kiss was devoted, affectionate as if to temper their carnal animalistic fervor of just moments before. This had most certainly been worth the wait, and would be again and again before the night was done, he thought with a libidinous grin.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mmmmmmm, cold," Frances murmured, burrowing herself deeply into the warmth of what she at first in her wakening stupor had thought was her pillow. As she slowly regained her wits she realized the object radiating heat was far to solid and yet deliciously soothing to be her pillow. She smiled, nuzzling her nose into the golden fur of Edrington's muscular chest. His arm flexed around her neck, which she now realized rested upon his firm bicep, and his hand stroked her hair gently.

"I didn't keep the fire up," he whispered to her smoothly, his warm breath brushing her ear. "I didn't want to disturb you." Languidly, as she was roused from slumber further she became aware of the fact that her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, her cheek resting against the brawn of his chest. Her grin widened and she snuggled closer playfully, enjoying this wonderful new thing. Responding to her nestling against him, he began to place kisses along her forehead and cheek and hair. Finally, she opened her eyes and gazed loving into waiting stare, dark with arousal. "There are other ways to keep warm, my love," he said with a naughty quirk to his lips as he stroked the soft bare skin of her shoulder with his fingertips.

She chuckled, kissing his chest with little warm wet kisses and wriggling against him. Her action garnered a reaction as she felt his stiff manhood brush her thigh insistently. She spread her legs for him resting her knee up upon his hip, a shiver of delightful anticipation running up her spine as he tilted her head back to claim her mouth to his. As his tongue savagely penetrated her lips so his rigid cock entered her, filling her once again with its astounding plumpness. He forced her on her back and rocked against her in steady rhythm, gasping in pleasure as her tight moist cavern squeezed his shaft convulsively. She arched against him as he rode her to bliss, calling out his name on an exhilarated sigh. He followed his bride, pumping as he poured into her, smiling as he nuzzled her sweet smelling hair.

She uttered an audible sound of disappointment as he disentangled himself from their devoted embrace and slid himself to the edge of the bed. "I have to get the fire up, love, or we'll freeze," he told her, standing and sauntering over to the hearth. He remained unabashedly naked and her eyes feasted on him voraciously, deciding he must be the most virile masculine creature in all the world, his sinew rippling beneath his tanned sweat slickened skin like liquid sex. He managed to stoke the fire into a dull roar and returned to the bed. "Up," he announced and she squealed as he threw the covers back, exposing her unclad body. Half out of chill, half out of embarrassment at being revealed to him fully in the unforgiving light of day, she tried desperately to cover herself with her arms and hands. He just laughed quietly and drew her into the warming circle of his arms kissing her worshipfully. "We need to eat; we cannot sustain ourselves indefinitely merely devouring each other." She blushed at his bold words and he gave her another of his heart stopping quirky smirks. "They brought breakfast in not long ago; it should still be warm. Come then," he said as he stood, throwing her a lacy wrap, which she did not recognize as her own. She smiled, identifying it as the gift it was and enthusiastically putting it on.

The small breakfast room was warmer; the maid having set up a thriving fire and the sunlight kissing the tiny mint green room with its golden rays reflected brightly off the deep covering of pristine snow outside as it filtered in through the grand window behind the breakfast table, which was set for two. Edrington remained naked as he took a seat in the low-backed plushly cushioned chair. Frances watched in fascination as he gathered that beautiful fall of flaxen curls of his into a loose queue and proceeded to eat, nibbling delicately upon a jam covered biscuit. "You've no shame," she teased, never taking her hot gaze from his alluringly unclothed body. Every hair on his body shone golden in the sunshine in the most intriguing way. The patch of fur at his groin looked like threads of pure gold under her scrutiny.

"You don't seem to mind," he responded shrewdly, licking his fingers slowly and seductively of the honey from a recently ingested sweet cake. "And why should I be ashamed if I have something my wife *so* enjoys gazing upon to let her feast her eyes upon it as frequently as possible?"

"Wicked," she scrunched her nose playfully, flushing a becoming shade of scarlet, leaning over the arm of her chair towards the table so he was afforded an eye's full of her ample cleavage practically bursting over the top of the elegant wrap. "It's not just my eyes that wish to feast upon it," she giggled. He noticed she was still shivering a bit and, with a crook of his finger, beckoned her over. She obeyed, standing and circling the table until she stood in front of him. Enclosing her waist in his embrace he pulled her down onto his lap, where she settled her pert little bottom on the edge of his naked thigh. His cock had already begun to grow and harden, and as he slipped his hands inside her robe to caress the bare flesh beneath to try to warm her it became positively rigid. He kissed her passionately.

"I think it's time," he said huskily as he messaged the skin of her belly and met her stare with an utterly wicked gleam in his eyes, "that we continue your riding instruction." He kissed her between each of his words.

"Yes, milord," she cooed breathlessly into his ear.

"Good girl," he smirked slightly, his voice as smooth as silk as it often became when he was contemplating making love to her. "First we must start with the basics. I shall begin with maintenance. One must always make sure that the saddle of your mount has been properly taken care of and oiled well." With that he insinuated his hand between her thighs as his fingers parted the damp swollen lips of her sex and infiltrated the walls of her satiny cave. She gasped as he thrust his middle finger all the way in to his knuckle while his thumb assertively stroked her clit. She moaned his name and began to grind herself against him, riding his palm, feeling the shocking coldness of his gold signet ring brush her burning flesh. The cream created by her body's delight drenched his hand and once again she uttered a distinct sound of frustration when he remove himself from her without letting her reach fulfillment but bit her lip and stared in complete aroused captivation as he began to paint his erect shaft with her juices until every inch shimmered with her excitement. He lapped and sucked the rest of her spending from his sticky fingers.

"Next step," he said throatily, holding her in his smoldering gaze, his eyes almost entirely onyx with titillation, "proper mounting procedure." He clutched her thigh tightly and pulled it over his lap, forcing her to straddle him. The smooth head of his prick pressed determinedly against the sensitive flesh of her lower belly. "Of course," he said, taking her face in his hands and pulling her towards him, nuzzling her neck and hair, "you have to make sure that the saddle and mount are the right ones for you."

"Oh," she moaned, "I'm sure, milord."

He laughed, the musk of his desire flooding her senses and filling the small room. Cupping her bottom, he lifted her slightly and shifted her until he found the place to push his cock in. Lubricated already with her essence, he slid into her easily and both let out a euphoric sigh at the feeling of each other. "Perfect fit," he groaned with a small lusty laugh, placing nibbling kisses along the tender arch of her neck. He held her hips in place and thrust upwards, filling her completely. "One must show their mount his master," he growled, withdrawing almost to the edge of her then powering his hips upwards and thrusting a second time.

"He already knows, sir," she smiled as he filled her repeatedly, plunging into her again and again with increasing force. "Oh, Alex," she cried, the use of an affectionate shortening of his Christian name inspiring him. His thrusts became more frantic as he showed her the rhythm to follow and she met each and every one with equal fervor. She rode him with confidence though he could feel her trembling with ecstasy in his arms. He held her tenderly despite his fierce penetrations; pressing his lips to her throat so he could feel as well as hear her cries of pleasure vibrate through him. He was right, they fit together perfectly; his flesh filling her up so all she could feel was him stretching her, gliding in and out effortlessly to her very limit. Through half lidded eyes she watched him, his face even more regal, more commanding in rapture. She grasped his shoulders as once again he easily took her to bliss and followed thereafter, pumping his cum into her like a man possessed.

He collapsed against the back of the chair, breathing as if he'd just run from one end of the estate to the other, and she upon his chest, panting with equal fever. He enfolded her in his arms and placed a kiss upon the top of her head, brushing the silky strands of her hair from her shoulders. She was silent for a long moment, just reveling in his tender caress. "You're unusually quiet, Franny," he smiled, wondering if his loving had actually tempered her frequently bubbly and giddy manner. "What are you thinking on?"

She grinned, running a fingertip around the circumference of his hard flat nipple, delighting in the shiver of pleasure the action inspired. "You," she answered impishly.

He gave a loud bark of laughter. "That was blunt!"

"I thought milord had no shame?" she said, lowering her hot lips to the nipple and suckling slowly. His laughter turned into a long, deep groan.

"With you, love? Never. I adore you, do you know that?" He tangled his fingers in her hair and gave it a yank until she tilted her head upwards so he could take her lips to his own. His tongue raked across the sweet moist softness of her mouth roughly as the kiss deepened erotically. As he pulled away, he caught the fullness of her bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling on it for a moment then sucking upon it fiercely. "You are so lovely. Let's back to bed, my Franny," he said huskily. "Breakfast no longer holds my interest. 'Tis a different appetite I wish to satiate now."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was well into the evening when Edrington and his bride decided to leave their chambers, to dine with Lady Hermione. Getting dressed proved to be quite the chore as each hindered the other's movements with kisses and caresses, but somehow they managed it. Just as they were about to exit however Frances' wedding ring, Alexander's great-grandmother's antique jeweled circlet which had fit ill ever since he presented it to her in the meadow that day he proposed to her, slipped from her finger and rolled beneath a carpet. She cursed and called to Edrington to go on ahead without her, that she'd catch him up as she got to her knees and began to crawl after the piece of jewelry.

It had always meant to be fixed, fitted, but with everything that had happened they simply did not have the time before the wedding. Frances had never thought she would count that as a blessing until she found the object resting upon the edge of a rug, exclaiming, "Ha ha, I've got you now!" She scooped up the ring triumphantly and as she placed it back upon her finger noticed something off: a bit of a chalk mark beneath the slightly askew Persian throw rug. She drew back the corner hesitantly, her eyes widening. She threw it back altogether and gasped at what was revealed: a complex symbol drawn in the harsh lines of white chalk upon the boarded wooden floor. Frances recognized the writing upon it instantly as the witches' alphabet. At first, she assumed the worst; the evil eye, a curse upon her womb or some such other hex that would commonly be placed in the bedding chamber the night of a wedding. Praising her mama for teaching her the odd figures scrawled before her she soon realized however that this was not in fact a malicious spell but a protection charm. She was sure Sophia did not know the alphabet so the girl could not have cast it. Could it have been Cecy? Could she have somehow sneaked in here before anyone else and created this majick? She remembered spying Whyte-Harris and she in the breakfast room and found the thought highly unlikely. But if not her who?

Alexander beckoned to her suddenly and she replied, "Coming, milord," as she hastily hid again the symbol beneath the Persian. She'd have all of supper to think on this new mystery; perhaps some answers would come to her.


	11. Chapter 11

"Are you coming, my Lady," Edrington smirked, pulling Frances into the circle of his arms and pressing his lips to the side of her neck as they stood at the bottom of the grand stair. He glanced provocatively in the direction of their quarters then met her gaze, his eyes already darkening with his arousal. He'd stared at her that way all during dinner, driving her to distraction thinking of all the things he was scheming on doing to her.

"In a moment, I promise," she smiled, placing her finger against his lips. "There's something I have to do first, but afterwards..." She let her words hang between them invitingly.

He nibbled slightly on the tender flesh over her pulse. "I'll be waiting," he breathed anxiously, "don't be long." She bit her lip watching him ascend the stair, slowly and seductively loosening his cravat and shaking off his dinner topcoat. She wanted so badly to follow him, to indulge in all those wicked things he had been planning all through supper, but there was something she must take care of first for it was gnawing on her conscience like a dog on a bone.

"Cecy, we need to talk," Frances said sternly, grabbing her sister's arm and forcing her away from what small crowd had remained tarrying around the dining room. Roughly she shoved her sibling into the empty lady's parlor and closed the door firmly behind her, checking suspiciously to make sure no one had seen them leave before shutting the portal and locking it.

"Have you found the book?" Cecy asked, a gleam of hopeful delicious excitement passing over her dark eyes.

"No not yet, but there's something else..." She would have to word this careful for she wanted an honest answer not one tailored to what Cecy believed Franny wanted to hear. "Were you, that is, did you sneak into the Earl's chambers last night? During the wedding perhaps?"

"No, of course not," Cecy replied, frowning. "Why on Earth should I do such a silly thing?" The lovely woman's features darkened. "Did you find something?"

"There was something," replied Frances hesitantly, then she lied, "but I don't know what to make of it." Well, it was really only a half-truth for she truly did not know what to make of it if it had not been Cecy who had put it there. She was more confused than she'd ever been in her life; could it be that there was another, someone trying to protect them as their mother had and failed. And why did she feel such caution in confiding it to Cecy? Could it be that strange half heard conversation between her sister and Edrington's friend, Whyte-Harris, that made her distrustful?

"Maybe I should have a look at it..."

"No!" Frances insisted with sudden urgency, making Cecy jump backwards a few inches. "I mean, I don't think it would exactly be a brilliant idea if you were to go marching into the Earl's bedroom and went about examining his floor on the assumption that there is a majickal talisman drawn thereupon." She decided to play upon Cecy's assurance in her ignorance in such matters. "Even if you do know more than I about such things. I'll let you know when I've discovered more." With that she gave her sister a peck on the cheek and exited, miles more disconcerted than she had been before their discussion when she had sought only to clear her troublesome mind.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sophia assisted Frances in undressing upon her mistress' arrival in her murky bedchambers. The chambermaids had not concerned themselves to light a fire as the Lady would most likely be spending the night within the Earl's chambers again, so the room was not only dark but also cold. Frances shivered slightly as she tied the lacy wrap atop her thin nightshift; though whether it be from a chill or from the strange sense of foreboding she felt she could not tell. She dismissed Sophia but lingered for a moment before withdrawing from her bedroom and entering the breakfast parlor that connected her quarters with her husband's. She stopped at the grand window behind the smallish table to gaze out upon the exquisite winter's night. A full moon shone its silvery strands of light across a wonderland of shimmering snow and ice, below which slumbered a world waiting to burst forth come springtime. But for now that world lay in wait, submissive to the dominant force of the season's frigid power.

It was some time before she moved to the door that led into Edrington's bedchamber. She opened it slowly and quietly, hoping that she might surprise him, and tiptoed in. He sat in his favorite chair by the fire, his back to her though through a slight turn of his head she could just catch sight of the distinguished profile of his ponderous face. He did not see her nor did she make any attempt to catch his attention. She wanted just for the moment to study him. In the flickering firelight he appeared so young, a boy only really in his mid-twenties though his regal commanding bearing often made him seem much older. So much responsibility at such a tender age, it wore heavily upon his shoulders. And yet now, his defenses gone as he believed himself to be alone, he looked so vulnerable, so weary. Something kindred stirred within Frances' breast and she felt a single hot tear roll down her cheek as she approached him and laid her head upon his lap, her cheek against his thigh. He started only for a moment as he realized her presence then relaxed his shoulders at the warmth of her contact. He ran his fingers through the silken strands of her loose strawberry hair as she gazed up at him somberly. "You looked so sad, Alex my sweet," she said quietly.

He smiled. No one had ever called him Alex before; it was always either Alexander, which is what his parents had always addressed him as, or Xander, which is what his closest friends had nicknamed him. But Alex belonged strictly to her; to her lips, in her voice. He ached to have that special part of her as well and devised from that time on to call her `his Francie', as he had never heard anyone else address her by that label. There was something in her deep evergreen eyes, something so sympathetic, so compassionate, it made his heart throb. Once again, as he had in the meadow the day he proposed to her, he got the sense that she fully understood what he was feeling, what was going through his mind; the heavy sense of duty, of obligation that burdened him even though he had been raised to except it without hesitation and with all the grace expected of him. What could she possibly comprehend of it and yet she seemed to completely and utterly without effort. Sometimes he understood her fully; her desires as a blooming teenage girl to please him and have pleasure herself, her neediness as a seemingly neglected child, her cheerfulness, her giddiness, the way she threw her whole heart out to him without uncertainty or doubt and was delighted like a young girl on Christmas morn when he returned her love. But there were other things, hidden in dark corners of her that remained a mystery to him. He wanted to learn them, to beg her to teach them to him, but he decided he must wait until she was ready to share them with him. In the meantime he would educate her in all there was to him that she didn't know already for she seemed to read him as she read one of her beloved books.

"Francie," he breathed, pulling her up to eye level with him, seating her on his lap. He kissed her softly as he hands made easy work of her wrap's fastenings. He slipped the lacy thing from her shoulders, cupping her breasts through the flimsy fabric of her camisole as he pressed his lips to the hollow of her collarbone, his tongue tickling her flesh. She pressed into him more firmly and he felt her dusky nipples pebble beneath his palms as he massaged. She wriggled in his lap giggling and felt him go rigid as steel beneath his breeches. He lifted her in his arms and laid her out on the plush Persian rug before the hearth, her soft hair spilling around her and across the exotic pattern of the carpet. He lifted her legs to his shoulders, exposing her to him as he lowered his head and buried his face between her legs. His nose nuzzled the patch of rust colored hair as he gently lapped at the cleft of her sex, her body bathing his tongue in the silky nectar of her lust. She writhed beneath him calling his name rapturously as he ran his lips and tongue through her pink folds, drinking of her hungrily like honey. The potent scent of her feminine excitement intoxicated him, making his head spin as his lips smacked against her sensitive private skin as he licked and sucked her out. She whimpered his name, arching against him and he removed himself from her before she came, quickly removing his breeches and filling her with his throbbing flesh with one strong thrust. She was so deliciously tight and warm he thought he'd run mad at the feel of her. He wanted her; not just now but for the rest of his life. Somehow she understood him in a way no one had ever before her and he would dedicate himself to understanding her. He wanted to know every delicious little sound she made when he caressed the many delectable parts of her, wanted to memorize her flavor, her scent. He tugged her shift down her shoulder exposing her breast to him and fastened his lips to the tightened peak instantly, suckling ardently as he slammed himself into her. She cried out and grasped at him, trying to keep hold of the one solid thing in her spinning haze of ecstasy.

Her wetness drenched his thighs and lower belly as he moved on her, thrusting into her again and again, both of them moaning raggedly as consummation of their love was upon them. She came first, her muscles clenching hard around his shaft as she cried his name. Roaring in release he followed shortly, his seed spilling into her hotly and trickling down her thighs. Both smiled at each other as they waited to regain control of their trembling bodies. "Tell me a secret, my Francie," he said huskily as he lay beside her on the rug.

"I'm a witch," she replied playfully pressing her lips to his ear as she whispered it to him.

He gave a short bark of laughter as he finally mustered enough strength to pull her into his arms and carry her to the bed. "I think you must be," he said, stripping the both of them of their clothing and laying atop her beneath the coverlet, gazing deeply into her eyes. "I think you must be." They made love, sating desires and cravings that only husband and wife share, until exhaustion overcame them both and they fell asleep still entwined in each other's embrace like the branches of the dead and barren winter trees outside.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was well past four in the morning, according to the chiming grandfather clock in the adjoining room, and Frances lay awake, contented in soaking in the warmth of Alexander's embrace but her mind was troubled. Slowly she slipped from the bed, careful not to wake him, and collecting her wrap from the floor, slid it on and tied it closed.

She wasn't exactly sure how she wound up in the library but she was there. Perhaps she sought out some clue as to what happened to the disappeared Shadow Book; a sudden urgency to find it herself had overtaken her since her earlier chat with Cecy. She didn't even notice Lady Hermione until she practically tripped over her. The former Lady of the house was sitting upon the very couch Frances and her son had made love upon before their wedding, the night she had lost the book. "M'Lady," the girl stammered, stunned speechless by the woman's presence and feeling somewhat as if she'd been caught doing something untoward, "I couldn't sleep, I..."

Lady Hermione smiled, a queer sort of thing, and patted Frances' hand. "Come come now, let us at least be honest with each other, little rabbit," the older woman said and as the younger looked closer, much to her horror she could see resting upon Hermione's lap was the very book she was seeking. Beside it on the sofa sat a few other books one which Frances recognized instantly as Cotton Mather on Witchcraft.

She gasped and began to back away, her heart beating wildly. They'd been discovered! Would she blackmail them or turn them over? Was she superstitious enough to have them hanged? Would she use this knowledge to keep Frances away from her son? A thousand different worst-case scenarios ran through her mind at once.

"This is what you've been looking for isn't it?" Hermione continued, keeping the same smooth indifference to her voice she always possessed and shared with her son as she held up the book. She patted the couch beside her and cocking her head to one side curiously, told the now shaking Frances, who was on the verge of tears, "Come sit beside me, little one. There is **much** we need to discuss."


	12. Chapter 12

"Where did you get off to this morning?" Edrington asked as Frances, dragging her feet slightly, strolled into their chambers. He turned from the mirror in the boudoir, his face still covered a bit with shaving cream, his straight razor in his left hand, to regard her. Her complexion was unusually ashen and he noticed her evergreen eyes were clouded and downcast. Once again she had retreated to that mysterious part of herself that he was not yet granted admittance to.

"Had a talk with your mother," she replied rather flatly, giving him a quick hug around his waist, burying her nose into the back of his shoulder and placing a kiss there before wandering from the small powder room, through the bedroom to the breakfast parlor. He finished what he was doing as quickly as he could and followed her; something wasn't sitting right with him.

"I count ten fingers, two arms, to legs and a head," he said taking a seat at the breakfast table and giving her one of his irresistibly charming trademark smirks, "so it must have gone well." Frances just shrugged, picking up a sweet roll only to find that she was too sick to her stomach to eat. Her head was spinning as she tried desperately to comprehend all that had been said in those early morning hours; her world had been turned topsy-turvy. She jumped at Alexander's unexpected touch as he knelt before her chair and took her face in his hands, stroking along her cheekbones with his thumbs. "Francie, did she say something to you?"

"No, no," she tried to assure him, giving her the most convincing smile she could muster which turned out pretty meek regardless. "I'm fine, I'm just... very tired." Oh how she wished she could tell him, bury her face in his chest and weep until she could cry no more and confess to him everything. But she couldn't, not yet at any rate. Even if he believed her, which seemed unlikely, she would be endangering everything and that was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She leaned into his caress, letting his warmth and masculine scent of his skin and the sandalwood soap he used to shave enclose her.

Softly he ran his hand through her hair, kissing her as he furiously tried to understand what was wrong so he could comfort her. If his mother had said something to her... Finally, he said the only thing he knew could make things right, the only thing that would make her understand he only wanted to soothe her and take care of whatever in the world was wrong for her, "I love you, Francie."

She smiled, this time genuinely, the sound of his smooth rich voice reverberating with those words and those emotions flooding her with passion and devotion. "I love you too," she told him, returning his kiss.

His hand snaked around the graceful curve of her neck, beneath the silken fall of her hair as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. She moaned against his lips, thrilling him further. He was panting when he broke the kiss, licking his lips excitedly as he gazed into her eyes intensely. "I missed you this morning," he told her, his hand sneaking beneath her wrap and taking the ample swell of her breast in his palm, massaging tenderly. "I don't like waking up alone."

"Then I promise you, milord," she said breathlessly, her lips only an inch or so from his, "you will never do so again."

"Come lay with me now then," he said huskily, seductively, "and make amends for it." He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, laying her upon the bed. He dragged his loose shirt over his head and slid his breeches off. No matter how many times she saw him naked she never ceased to wonder at how beautiful he was. She ran her small hands along the expanse of his brawny chest, tickling his nipples with her fingernails as her tongue followed the path her fingers blazed. She placed wet sucking kisses across his collarbone, leaving a trail of wetness as she moved her mouth to his flat hard nipples, suckling each in turn. She moved her mouth to his taut stomach, dipping her tongue into his navel. She levered herself even lower, caressing his lower belly with her lips and Edrington gasped, curling his fist in her hair. He wanted so badly to teach her to make love to him with her lips, to feel her warm moist mouth close over his throbbing flesh, to cum as she suckled him. But he didn't want to rush or pressure her; all these things, they were still so new to her. So when she lost her nerve at the last moment and began to ascend his body again, though he felt a keen sense of disappointment he didn't let it show. Regardless, he was so consumed by lust for her at that moment it didn't matter how he had her he just knew he needed her.

He rolled her onto her back and mounted her, sliding into her slick heated sex with familiar yet no less thrilling accuracy. Even with all their vigorous love making of the past few days, she remained ever so eager for his attentions and so tight he thought it would drive him wild. And it did. He grunted, sliding his wet tongue between her now swollen and plumb colored lips, kissing her deeply as he moved inside of her, feeding on her slow moans and gasps of pleasure. His fingers made quick work on her wrap's ties and he tugged it off her body, desperate to lay his greedy hands on every inch of her voluptuous flesh. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, ran his tongue along her collarbone, took the tip of her breast into his mouth, suctioning his lips frantically to the engorged little nub. She shouted her delight and arched against him. He never knew sex could feel this wonderful, that he could want it this greatly again and again and again. The heady perfume of her body's arousal filled his every sense as shifted his weight to his arms, levering himself up a bit so he could gaze downwards. He groaned watching his member, bathed and glistening with the honey of her desire, drive in and out of her. He put his hand there, parting her rust colored curls and thick lips and moving his fingers inside if her to feel what he had only been previously watching and feeling. She whimpered deliciously as his fingertips brushed the sensitive bud of nerves within the moist hood of her private flesh, feeling it plumpen beneath his touch as the blood rushed like a river to her nether regions. "Oh Alex, oh!" she moaned as his fingers explored her and himself at the place where her entered her, gliding in and out. "Alex, the things you do!" He removed his hand and sucked her flavor off each saturated digit with relish, smelling and tasting himself as well her potent nectar.

Frances couldn't believe what was being done to her; this unimaginable enjoyment and gratification he was giving her. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, burying her face in his neck as he invaded her body's very center of delight. His fingers were in her hair petting her lovingly, his lips kissing her face worshipfully while his cock rode deep inside of her. She had always wanted to be loved but never in her wildest dreams had she fantasized it would be like this! This beautiful clever man, to all the world cold and unyielding, the perfect soldier calculating and sharp witted, was to her and only her a wanton, lustful and adoring lover. His kisses intensified the closer he came to fulfillment. "Mmmmmmm," he groaned, the smacking sound of his lips and tongue suckling at her bared skin coupled with the profound noise of their wet and sticky joining making Frances come aggressively as she cried out her ecstasy, "Mmmmmmmmm."

Her muscles closed around him strongly, her shouts as she reached her crisis sending him over the edge. He roared his rapture, a sound Frances had come to cherish, and burst forth into her. His warm seed filled her, running down both their thighs as he lunged one last time and collapsed, panting deeply, a smile of satisfaction that sent thrills down Frances' spine turning the sardonic arch of his lips. "Love me?" she asked in a coy, teasing tone running her finger along his lower lip. Tenderly he sucked it into his mouth, making her giggle.

"Mmph," he said, his mouth and nose nuzzled into the sweet softness of her bosom. "Always," he replied, lifting his head and kissing her gently. She hated for it to ever end but there was something she had to do... Well, she supposed it could wait until later.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She could feel Cecy even before she could see her; a ripple, a wave in the surroundings, like a drop of rain into a becalmed pool. She could also tell that her sibling's mood was less than genial today, like smelling the smoke before spotting the fire. She could see from the state of her chambers that her sister had had another fit; pillows were strewn about, the bedclothes pulled at and rumpled violently, books and knick-knacks scattered about the floor. "You smell like sandalwood," a quiet voice said, surprising Frances with its suddenness even though she'd known Cecy had been standing behind her for the past minute or so. "Is that the scent of your Earl?"

"Be serious for a moment, Cecy," Frances snapped, an unusually harsh frown darkening her pale brow. "I have news, important news! The book..."

"The Shadow book; you have it?" Cecy asked abruptly, licking her lips eagerly, not bothering to mask her dangerously gleeful enthusiasm.

"More or less. I don't exactly have it in the sense that it's not precisely in my possession at the moment," Frances winced, recoiling from the fierce flash in her sister's unfathomable dark eyes, "but I know where it is! It's as good as ours, truly. It's in Lady Hermione's quarters, where I do not know but I do not think she truly understands its powers so I doubt it will be well guarded."

"Lady Hermione is a witch then?" Cecy said, a feline grin spreading across her face, reading Frances' expression with disturbing exactitude. "How very interesting. Do you think...?"

"No, not her," Frances cringed. Could Cecy see through her? Could she possibly perceive that her dearest sister was withholding something from her? She'd always been exceptionally proficient in that; mama had called it cunning. Doubts now made Frances hesitant; could she set her sister up like this? It was a cruel trick indeed. Could Cecy sense her hesitancy? "She _is_ a witch, but not a powerful one; not as we of the Farrar clan. Certainly not powerful enough for the sort of transmogrification we're talking on. Trust me, this will be easy."

"And how did you find this out?"

Another wave of guilt washed over Frances but there was no turning back now. "She showed it to me, she taunted me with it. I think she has mama's other books as well, but not the valise," she added quickly. "She wants to use it to coerce me, us. She says if we don't do what she asks of us she'll tell Alexander and we'll both be thrown to the street; even papa's name would not save us from that kind of scandal."

"And why am I made to do this, retrieve the book?" asked Cecy mistrustfully. Did she suspect something was amiss? "Why not you?"

"Because Lady Hermione will be watching my every movement, take my word on this," Frances sighed, keeping her reply vague. "You can sneak away unnoticed; perhaps during dinner. Alexander's attention is always on me, and they've becoming used to you... sudden disappearances towards the evening hours, usually followed thereafter by Whyte-Harris'.... But w-we'll have to wait," she amended abruptly. Dammit, was she stuttering? If she were it would be a clear warning sign to Cecy. "She'll be expecting some sort of retaliation or scheme from us; we must do it when she least expects it, a month or so from now perhaps."

"Yes, I think you are right, Franny," Cecy said, narrowing her eyes in shrewd scrutiny. "Very clever thinking. Very clever indeed."

Frances felt her stomach and her spirits drop as she watched Cecy gleefully glide over to her dressing table and mirror to ready herself for supper. "Cecy," she asked tentatively, "why is it you are so concerned with the Shadow Book but have given nary a thought to the missing black valise. Could it not do as much damage in the wrong hands as the book can?"

"Don't be such a worry wart, Franny," Cecy replied dismissively. "There was hardly anything in that bag that could bring us harm. It's the book we need!"

"Right," Frances said dispiritedly as she exited, closing the door to Cecy's chamber behind her firmly. Heaving a long, sad sigh she leaned against the doorjamb, uncertainty and reservations flooding her overwrought mind. "Bright Lady, give me strength and help me through this," she said under her breath. "If I'm wrong, save me. If I'm right, save us all."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Did you do it?" Lady Hermione asked anxiously as she pulled Frances away from the dining room into the darkness and seclusion of the hall leading to the ladies parlor. Longing, Frances watched Alexander retreating towards his study, wishing with all her heart he would come and rescue her; take her out of this horrid mess she'd gotten herself into, hold her and tell her everything was going to be alright. But instead she watched his back as he walked without hesitation away from them, oblivious.

"I did," Frances replied uncomfortably. "I even bought you some time; I convinced her to wait a while, maybe a month."

"Good girl, good girl," Hermione smiled serenely. "That should give me enough time to set my traps. Clever girl; I knew there was a reason it was you I wanted to marry my Alexander to. But what is wrong, little pet?" she frowned, taking Frances' chin in her hand. The girl's evergreen eyes were murky and somber, her expression gloomy. "You're not having doubts now are you? This is for the best."

"I've betrayed her," Frances choked on the hot tears, which threatened to explode from her at any moment. "My sister, my flesh and blood and I have betrayed her."


	13. Chapter 13

Edrington threw a large log onto the dying fire and climbed back into bed, settling himself up against Frances' back. Her still form faced the hearth as he pressed his heated body against hers; as always he was concerned about her comfort above his own, making sure she was warm enough, content for himself to just revel in the heat radiating from her luscious naked body. He braced his elbow against the pillow levering himself up, brushing the long sweat dampened strawberry strands of her hair from her face and shoulders so her may gaze down upon her.

The sheet just barely caught on the creamy ample swell of her breast as it rose and fell with her breath, stimulating his senses. He could tell she wasn't asleep; her breathing was far too uneven. He ran his fingertips along the soft pale expanse of her shoulder and forearm, delighting in the feel and scent of her bared flesh. She smelled tantalizingly like sex; their sex, the coupling, joining, of their two bodies. He supposed he had been vaguely aware of the notion that women were capable of enjoying making love as greatly as men but he never quite understood what it would feel like to bring a lover to bliss, to share with her the enormity of what he experienced when they lay together. He found the idea of pleasuring her as much as she pleasured him exhilarating and intoxicating. Marriage had always been thought of as a duty but this, this was love and he was drunk with it. "I know you're awake," he whispered, licking the place beneath her jaw where her pulse was slowly beginning to quicken.

"I'm thinking," she replied, trying to stifle a giggle as his hand sneaked beneath the coverlet and ran down her ticklish side.

"You seem... distracted lately," he observed, continuing to kiss along the smooth curve of her neck as his fingers stroked her hip. "You would tell me if something were troubling you, wouldn't you, my Francie?"

She turned to him, meeting his lips with the lustful enthusiasm only a lover can posses. "Of course," she smiled, pushing aside the violent turmoil that seemed to stir her insides like a hurricane lately as she gazed into his eyes. She couldn't tell him that she lay awake every night, even in the early morning hours when she felt him steal away silently to work in his private study managing the affairs of the estate before he supposed she woke, wondering if this was the night; if Cecy had attempted to take the book while all attention was away from her, if she had succeeded. Would she inform her sister if she had? Would Lady Hermione? So caught up in this game of deceit involving those she loved most that she had been most ill at ease for some time now. That tonight of all nights she felt unsettled, as if a majickal electric storm was gathering on the horizon. She wished she could tell him and take comfort in him, but she could not. Instead she just snuggled her cheek against his chest and told him, "You worry on me too much."

He smirked, that same bewitching quirk to his mouth that Frances always found so enchantingly seductive. "I like worrying on you," he told her, his voice a low soft rumble in his throat. She looked so delicate in his arms right now, so unguarded, and he couldn't conceive why she would not share whatever burden she carried with him. It seemed she had become increasingly vulnerable over the past month, though always present was the sense that her fragile exterior concealed an armor of stone. "It makes me feel as if I make you a good husband."

She grinned widely, cuddling into him provocatively. If he had chosen to hide from her the indication of the physical effect she had over his body he could no longer do so as she nestled the yielding cradle of her thighs against his burgeoning cock. "You do make me a good husband," she said playfully, wiggling her hips. "You provide for me and you care for me and you love me..." Her words trailed off as her hand wandered between their bodies and slithered downwards taking his ready shaft in her palm. He groaned, taking her chin in his hand and pulling her mouth to his passionately, his tongue thrusting between her lips and ravaging her mouth with sensual intensity. He lunged forward once then steadied his hips with great effort, eager to feel her devoted if somewhat hesitant exploration of the receptive satiny column of his dick. She stroked him excitedly, feeling his moist skin move with every caress of her hand as he grew harder and longer within her grip. She cupped his balls and massaged curiously, feeling them swell and grow taut as his body readied itself for release. Tiny coarse honey colored hairs and silken smooth skin tickled her fingertips at the base of the underside of his rod where it met with his heavy sac, and the flesh of the two dangling orbs felt like weighted velvet in her hands. Again she wondered what he'd taste like pumping into her mouth, the sounds he'd make if she licked him there and once again was too timid to try. What if she did it wrong? What if she embarrassed herself; what if it didn't please him?

His kiss became more forceful, more savage, growling against her lips fiercely as something in his stomach began to tighten and coil blissfully. Sensing his urgency she began to stroke more furiously, her little hand moving frantically, squeezing with alternating pressure what seemed to her to be his impressive size. She concentrated on the bulging crown, rubbing from the base to the tip of the smooth head with her thumb, feeling the first earthy droplets of his pre-come against her fingertip. He could no longer control himself; his hips began to move of their own accord. She stole a look below the covers in lustful fascination, watching her long slender fingers fondle that most marvelous long worshipped part of man as he pumped it against her palm. So engorged with blood and desire was he that the helmet of his member was enlarged and nearly purple with need. He was moaning steadily, something in the back of his brain telling him he should push into her now before he came but the play of her fingers against his masterpiece of nature proved too deliciously tempting and his body would not let him break away from her tender manipulation of his manhood. He held onto to her as his orgasm ripped through him tight and fast, roaring in ecstasy as his seed shot from him in spurts; bathing himself, their already rapture stained sheets and the generous curve of Frances' hips and thighs in his sticky essence.

He smiled lazily, burrowing his nose and mouth into the arch of her neck. "Mmmmmm," he sighed blissfully, "what did you do that for."

She kissed him on his sweat glistening forehead. "Because I love you." She grinned. "Because it makes me feel as if I make you a good wife," she answered teasingly.

"Mmmmmmmm," he licked his lips wickedly, urging her onto her back and positioning himself above her, "my good... dutiful... wife." He punctuated each of his words with a kiss.

"Duty be damned," she told him, mischievously wriggling against him, "I want to enjoy my husband and I want him to enjoy me."

"Oh he does, my Lady, on that you can take my word." His mouth brushed her breasts, nibbling and suckling her flesh with strong open-mouthed kisses that left little marks in their wake. He moved down the soft rounded rising of her belly, the pale skin rippling with her hastening panting breath, until her came to the enticing bush of moist curls that covered the thick swollen lips of her cunt. He ran his tongue teasingly across the damp cleft, sampling her with relish before forcing it into her, plunging into the pink folds of her sex, lapping at the womanly juices that poured from her in heated flows like molten desire. The hot hungry feel of his mouth on her private place always drove her to the edge of her own sanity and it seemed as though tonight he was savoring her with more fervor than usual. She smelled and tasted wonderful to him; damp, salty-sweet, like springtime after a rainstorm. She arched against him with a rapturous cry, pushing him further into him, her spending running down his chin as if he was devouring the ripest peach. He drank her creamy feminine essence down greedily in long loud sups and gulps, his groans and growls of satisfaction rumbling against her sensitized flesh, making her shiver as the vibrations tickled her innermost intimate core.

He adored how uninhibited, how wild, she became when it came to his loving; how vocal she was about how greatly he was pleasuring her. He dipped his tongue deep into her well, tasting there and sipping from her own delicious flavor as well as the tang of his spending from earlier in the night. Frances' hips rocked against him as ecstatic cries flew from her throat. She curled her fists in the sheets, desperately urging him, begging him onwards. He found her taut little clitoris and pulled it between his lips, suckling her until her climax ripped through her brutally, drenching his face in her satin nectar as she came. He licked her up noisily; his tongue was everywhere making a show of letting her know how much he enjoyed her and his act of oral gratification. When he had at last sated his appetite for her he laid beside her once more, holding her as the last of the delightful shutters and spasms wracked her soft body. She lay limp in his arms as he petted her hair and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue. "What was that for?" she asked, her evergreen eyes shimmering and smiling.

"Love you," he told her, mounting her. Her sex was still quivering and throbbing from the force of her crisis when she felt him push his once again stiffened cock into her. "Love this," he moaned as he began to move inside of her, feeling the slick walls of her sex close tightly around him. My Gawd, the man was insatiable and completely unabashed about it. Frances had to smile imagining what a obedient and proper wife would do with a man such as this; the swoons of maidenly horror and modesty as she realized that wifely duty with the Earl of Edrington meant more than just curtseys, needlepoint and demure tolerant smiles exchanged from across the room. For once in her life she was completely and utterly grateful for her unconventional upbringing for though she was in no way prepared for his conduct of carnal invention, she was not frightened by it either.

She knew eventually they would settle into some sort of routine, that this wondrous lustful feasting would not last forever, but that in itself excited her; to know she would be his Lady Edrington, would bear him his children, and would be waiting for him in his bed every evening to satisfy whatever craving he possessed with girlish zeal and enthusiasm. That, she was certain, would never diminish. She dug her fingernails into his back, leaving bruising crescent moon marks in the thick muscle there, as he came, his internal explosion bursting forth into her belly, filling her as she could imagine no other man doing. Truly too exhausted and contented to worry on what Cecy or Lady Hermione might be up to at the moment; with his kisses still upon her lips, his seed still wet upon her thighs she fell asleep in his arms.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Edrington was just rising from the armchair behind his desk in his study, making ready to leave so he climb in bed just in time to watch his cherished beloved awake, when Whytie sauntered in, helping himself to some of Alexander's best brandy and stretching himself out upon one of the room's elegant leather sofas. Edrington glanced towards the softly ticking clock on the mantle, illuminated ethereally by the last flickering embers of the small fire he had started; four o'clock. "You're up early," he observed, regarding his friend somewhat dubiously.

"Or late," Joseph shrugged. "S'pose I just haven't passed out yet from my nightly excesses." His friend frowned, rubbing his chin, wounded by his Edrington's curtness. "You're mightily ill tempered for someone who's just spent the night indulging in the feminine delights of that flower of a bride of yours. Honestly, if I spent half the time you do with my head in a sweet little cunny..."

"Whytie," Alexander said rather shortly, taking a seat behind his desk once again as he realized he'd not be getting away anytime soon, "you are my oldest and dearest friend and therefore I will ignore that remark. I continue to tolerate your presence here at Abberline Cross under the assumption that you are courting that... sister in law of mine."

"Good Gawd, courting the tigress?" Whytie scoffed. "Why on Earth would you suppose I'd do such as foolish thing as that?"

"Then I would ask you to leave before you manage to soil her reputation further," Edrington said tersely, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

"Soil her reputation?" laughed Whytie bitterly, then repeated thoughtfully, "Soil her reputation. I think she's done well enough with that on her own."

Something was bothering Alexander; something about this, about Whytie, about the thick black coldness of the night. He felt a certain irrational urgency to get back to his chambers to make sure Frances was safe and sound, peacefully asleep in their bed where he had left her. But there was something troubling Joseph and he couldn't just leave his best friend here to wallow in his sorrows alone. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that something had gone askew with the world. His disquieted thoughts turned once again to Frances; he couldn't help but feel she was in danger somehow.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everything was silent; so silent it was unsettling. Frances stirred in the large bed, reaching for Alexander only to discover he wasn't there. The darkness seemed to be closing in around her and her fears from earlier in the night came rushing back to her. That majickal lightning storm she had felt on the horizon was about to break and she could feel it like electricity running through her bones, making her hair stand on end. She felt a rush of air brush past her cheek and she bolted upright with a gasp. "I know you're in here, I can feel you," she whispered.

Suddenly she felt herself being forced backwards against the mattress, pinning her arms to her sides. She tried with all her might to call out but no sound came from her mouth. Then came the feeling; the horrendous sensation that she was being violated, that something was being forced into her where it didn't belong. She screamed in pain and fear and frustration at not being able to move; yet still no noise could be heard in the stillness of the bedchamber. Then they were there, another presence within her, beneath her skin; not only sharing her body but controlling it, overpowering her. For an instant, she felt a third life force pulsing weakly from inside her and then it seemed to just flutter away. Against her own will she sat up, watched as her limbs moved about even as she tried to stop them. The other thing, the presence, had taken her over completely. Her head was spinning in a dizzying haze of agony, but through it she could feel her body's forced occupant, their energy, their soul.

_"Oh my Gawd," she gasped, though her voice was heard only in her head; her lips refused to move. "It's you! It's you."_  



	14. Chapter 14

Slowly, as if a toddler upon its feet for the very first time, Frances' body stood and hobbled over to the full-length mirror in the powder room. Resisting every step as she was proved excruciatingly painful. She could see out of her eyes as if they were not her own but warped windows showing her distant and strange things; her eyes were no longer lucid evergreen but murky brown, her skin not so pale as waxen, her hair not so strawberry as tarnished bronze. A hand ran down the curve of her neck, admiring the feel of the smooth skin, clutching the ample swell of one breast pinching the large nipple puckered with the cold cruelly, rounding her belly to her voluptuous hip and the damp space between her thighs.

_**"Your Earl gave you much; he's still wet inside of you. I think I'll quite fancy this body,"** a voice sneered inside her head, confirming her first and most dreadful suspicion._

_"Cecy!" Frances spat out. "Give me back my body! Banissez! Soyez alle!"_

A bitter humorless laugh filled her head and echoed as if it were a cathedral. _**"Do you really think your little banishment spells will work on me, little sister? They're about as powerful as those pathetic traps Lady Hermione set upon the Shadow Books. We're they meant to backlash? Is that how the two of you plotted to incriminate me? No matter, they were easy enough to get rid of. At least you weren't lying when you told me she was no powerful witch."**_

_"It was you all along," Frances sobbed. "Lady Hermione was right about everything. Oh Cecy, how could you?!"_

_**"It was easy enough once I learnt the basic incantation,"** Cecy boasted with a self-satisfied edge to her voice. **"Of course using it on people, now that proved to be somewhat of a problem. I tried animals first..."**_

_"The raven, out in the field the day Alexander proposed to me," Frances gasped in realization. "You bitch!"_

_**"Oh, it started long before the raven, dear sister,"** Cecy chuckled. **"The raven was just a bit of fun; proof that I could finally command and control another living creature. Other attempts have not been so successful. The horse that threw papa, for example..."**_

_"No!" Frances cried._

_**"You always were too sentimental for your own good, Franny,"** Cecy sighed, moving the body, now more steady on its feet, back into the bedroom and slipping on her lacy wrap. **"As was mama; she never forgave me for that but I was never forsaken by the clan either. She couldn't bear to give up on one of her precious offspring, could she? She tried to save me, to marry me off so I might settle down."** She laughed. **"Can you imagine? While she was coddling and spoiling her darling little Franny, her protection spells were working well enough to keep me in line though there was the odd "accident", like Sir Thomas' hunting mishap. But they were weakening her as well; I could feel her power waning slowly like sap running from a tree. And then we came here and her majicks intensified; she must have figured out by that time what I had been up to for all those years. She was my first, you know. Being inside of her was like... nothing else. All that strength, all that capability; it was like touching a star. But she was feeble by that time and controlling her proved to be easier than a strong, healthy human being. I played around with it, switching bodies with Whytie as we made love-- and yes, he knew of it; he knows of me, of us --just for the thrill, so we may experience the delight the other was feeling. I even tried your Lord Alexander, though he was hardest of all; so much restraint, so much self-discipline. I found I could only place suggestions within him, like going into the library that night to find out what you were up to. His lust took mastery of him then; I could feel his want for you swelling up from within him. I tried to stop him but he was too forceful and that's when you LOST THE BUGGERY BOOK, YOU LITTLE TART! And that meddling shrew Lady Hermione found it before I could get to it, though I didn't know she had it until you so kindly informed me. Really Franny, you were never much of a liar; I saw through you and your little schemes instantly just as you have known that I have had mama's black valise since it disappeared.**_

_**And then there was you. I've always watched you get all the attention, Franny, all the pampering, all the favor. And why, dammit?! I'm the important one, I'm the Farrar one! You're nothing, do you hear me? You have no real power,"** she said echoing Morgana's frightening words the night she struck Frances. **"And yet here you are, Lady Edrington, married to a loving husband, his disgusting little brat growing in your womb."** Frances' breath caught. That was it, that was the third life she had felt touch her as Cecy had violated her body. **"Didn't you know? It's a girl, Franny, it's a Farrar girl. Sir Thomas planted his seed in my belly too but I got rid of them all; they were all boys, I could not bear the Farrar child."**_

_"Cecy, don't please," Frances asked of her with as much composure as she could muster under the circumstances, "don't hurt my child."_

_**"Hush now,"** Cecy said, an odd sort of insane calmness permeating her voice as she placed a hand over Frances' womb, **"don't cry, little sister. Cecile will make it all better. I've always wanted your life; now I'm taking it."**_  



	15. Chapter 15

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alexander breathed a deep sigh of relief; he'd finally been able to rid himself of Whytie when the man had gotten so tired he'd almost passed out right in Edrington's study. It worried him to see his friend so troubled and yet thoughts of Frances had been ever present as he had tired to console Joseph best he could. It was his last words as he stumbled out the door into the back hallway that had chilled Alexander the most: "I bargained with the Devil, old Ripper. I wagered and I lost. Gawd save you, Gawd save you all."

Edrington's brow furrowed, now more urgent to be beside Frances than ever. His legs took him determinedly in long quick strides to the door that lead to the main hallway. He started a bit in surprise when he opened the thing and found his bride standing on the other side, her arm raised and her fist curled readying to knock.

She smiled and he let out a breath of relief in seeing her unharmed and secure. "I had a nightmare," she said coyly, running her hand along the expanse of his muscular shoulder, "and I was alone when I awoke. I missed you."

_"Do stop, Cecy," Frances snorted in disgust. "I sound nothing like that! You're making me to be a swooning idiot!"_

He pulled her to him and kissed her gently, the feeling that something was still not right nagging monotonously at the back of his brain. "It's alright now, love," he smirked, running his hands through the silken expanse of her hair. There was something odd... about the color maybe?

She leaned into his provocatively, sensually rubbing the plump roundness of her bosom against his firm chest, the thin layers of linen between them melting into seemingly nothing. She pressed her mouth to his, skirting his lips with her tongue as she gazed into his eyes. "Will you make it better?" she asked breathlessly.

_"Oh, come now!" Frances protested. "You're making me ill!" She felt her hand go to Alexander's crotch, lightly stroking the swelling enlargement in his breeches with her palm. "Oh no, don't you dare, Cecy! You keep your hands off of him or I swear I'll..."_

_**"You'll what,"** Cecy laughed. **"Try one of your ineffectual little banishment spells again? He seems to be responding well enough, doesn't he?"**_

Much to Frances' dread, it was true; Alexander was reacting to Cecy's touch as if it were her own, his cock growing harder with every teasingly light brush of her fingers. He moaned, his eyes becoming dark and smoky with lust as he took her mouth once again, his tongue forcing itself between her lips and plundering the warm sweetness inside. His loose queue gave up a few curling strands of his golden tresses and they spilled about his face and shoulders like a halo. "Let's to bed, my Francie," he murmured against her lips.

"No, let's here," she smiled wickedly. He was caught off guard by her assertiveness but nonetheless aroused. He continued to kiss her as he carefully forced her up against the hard wooden surface of his desk. She opened her legs for him and he moved his hips between them, feeling her intimate moist heat even through the wool of his breeches. His kisses became desperate, his hands fondling her breasts softly but insistently.

_**"See how he responds?"** Cecy sneered._

_"Only because he believes it to be me!" Frances replied in turn. "If he only knew... Alexander, how could you not know?!"_

_**"He is very commanding, is he not?"** Cecy laughed. **"How deliciously wicked!"**_ With a grin, she had somehow managed to coerce Edrington back into the leather armchair behind his desk. She knelt between his parted legs, moving her yielding body against his taut one like a cat. His grip on her was strong, possessive, as his hands moved across her breasts. "I want to please my Lord," Cecy cooed. If Frances had had control of them, she would have rolled her eyes in loathing.

Small dainty hands had made their way up Edrington's shirt and were caressing the firm muscles they found there, moving across his chest, his flat stomach, the buttons of his breeches which slender fingers easily slid open.

_"Cecy, don't you dare..." Frances warned._

Too late; her hands had moved inside the fabric of his trousers and were fondling the rigid staff of velvety flesh within. Alexander let out a loud gasp, smirking as he snaked his hand underneath her fall of hair to cup the back of her neck and stare intensely into her eyes. Again, that feeling of unease. Something else there behind her usually luminous eyes ; something cold, something dangerous. He felt the sudden unexplained urge to recoil away from her. He frowned inwardly; this was his Francie, this was the love of his lifetime, what could possibly be bothering him so about her touch? Why did it not feel as soft, as loving, as it had merely hours ago?

Alexander tilted his hip slightly upwards and off the chair as her smooth hands caressed the solid brawny expanse of his thighs and buttocks, feeling his powerful muscles react to her touch, and she slipped his breeches down, the slight crisp of hair tickling her fingertips and sending thrills through both Frances and Cecy. His thick cock was erect and standing proudly at attention from the nest of golden curls at his groin, quivering for the feel of her. He groaned as she stroked the loose skin back to expose the sensitive crimson head of his shaft, her warm breath caressing it teasingly.

_**"Mercy me, Franny, but he is beautiful,"** Cecy said mischievously. **"And such a big boy. No wonder you've taken to him so."**_

_"Cecy, if you dare..." Frances' voice turned to a moan as her tongue gently licked the salty lucid drops of moisture emanating from the tip of his penis, savoring the potent flavor. Gawd, how she wanted him; to have her body back so she could pleasure him as he wished to be pleasured._

_**"I believe you could use a bit of instruction from big sister, Franny,"** Cecy mocked. **"Now pay close attention..."**_

She swirled the tip of her tongue around the ridge at the bottom of the crimson blood engorged crown of his hard dick, flicking her tongue across the base on the underside, making him growl and tighten his grip on her hair brutally. She licked him up and down, relishing every inch of him, nuzzling her nose into the coarse thatch of honey colored hair. Frances moaned softly, understanding now how he received so much pleasure when his mouth was between her legs. Cecy lavished his plump male organ with sucking kisses and lashes of her tongue as she made her way upwards to the base. She tapped her tongue against the smooth patch of flesh at the foundation of his ample penis between his rod and heavy sac, honey colored pubic hair tickling her swollen lips. She laved one of his testicles with her lips and tongue before drawing the pendulous orb into the moist entry of her mouth, licking and sucking the ball with lascivious abandon.

His breathing became urgent as he arched his back off his seat, seeking anchor with one hand gripped tightly against the back of the chair while the other cradled her head, begging her to proceed. For months he'd dreamed of her luscious mouth upon his privates; he stole a glance downwards, watching through half lidded eyes her silken curtain of hair as it fell upon the bare skin of his groin and thighs. This is everything he had wanted and the pleasure he was feeling was remarkable; so why did it feel so depraved?

"Francie," he groaned, almost against his own volition. "Good Gawd, my love, don't stop..."

She felt the sac bulge and tighten within the warm wet cavern of her mouth, slowly easing up into his body, and she knew he was at the brink of reaching bliss. She removed her lips from his testicle and, placing a kiss upon the helmet first, leisurely swallowed his throbbing cock. He watched in total rapture as her mouth generously took his length in, straining to keep his hips from pistoning forward, plunging himself deep into the heated orifice.

_"Dear Lady," Frances panted passionately, "he's delicious!"_

His masculine flavor made her mind spin and the overwhelming virile fragrance of his manhood made her mouth water as she felt him fill her up, his head gently stroking the entrance to her throat. The solid muscles of his stomach rippled in delight and his cock trembled between her lips with each of his movements. A sound of pure savage enjoyment ripped from his throat as she began to draw him in and out, sucking strongly as she shifted on him, her head bobbing back and forth. His stomach clenched with ecstasy and the exertion of holding himself back, trying to prolong his pleasure for as long as possible. Her mouth was so hot, so wet as it pulled at his sensitive skin, her tongue thrashing at the velvety column of flesh even as her lips contracted rhythmically around him in firm sucks and her fingers curled around the base pumping up and down in time with her suckling. Her other hand reached around to the skin between his balls and his rectum, rubbing his pleasure point, pinching the tender flesh.

A groan escaped her throat (was it Cecy's or Frances'?) and reverberated against his receptive dick, making his shudder as climax was upon him. He grunted once, forcing his hips forward, his cock deep into her throat making her gag slightly as he spilled himself. He pumped with each of his discharges, letting her taste mouthfuls of his salty tang each time. Momentarily dazed by the force of his orgasm, Cecy lost control and Frances with soft, gentle eyes, rested her cheek against his thigh and, stroking the soft golden down of his pubic mound, told him, "I love you, Alex."

He gazed down into her eyes, love and adoration evident in his stare as he worshipfully pet her soft hair. Absently, he wiped a stray drop of his spending from her chin with his thumb, rubbing it against her full bottom lip affectionately. Words could not express how he felt at that moment; so full of devotion and satiated from the pleasure she had selflessly given to him was he. "I liked doing that," she smiled. But as soon as Cecy had recovered, Frances felt herself being pushed away, forced to the back of her consciousness again. She tried to scream, tried to warn him, but once again no sound escaped her lips as she was coerced back into the prison of her own body.

Her evergreen eyes, which had only moments ago been regarding him ardently, grew cold again, murky. Frances' own words came back to haunt him as he stared curiously into those now hard eyes: "Wasn't like her, her eyes were different... somehow..." She had said that to him the night her mother had hit her and had subsequently died. He didn't understand, not at the time; he couldn't have. This new thing, this new person in Francie's body, moved up his chest and offered its lips to him in a mockery of a kiss. He turned his head away. Her lips turned down in a pout, a faint charmless mimicry of a gesture his Francie might make. "What's the matter, Alex?" said the thing with his beloved wife's voice.

Disgusted at what he had let this thing do to him under the guise of love, he drew back his fist and struck her in the jaw, knocking her from his lap and to the floor. If it had been his Francie, if he had made a mistake it was one he would never be able to rectify. She would stare up at him, hurt coloring her evergreen eyes as she bravely tried to hold back the tide of tears. But instead this thing in her body, sprawled out upon the floor, her legs spread indecently, just looked up at him and laughed, a hollow, taunting sound. "You're not my wife," he spat out, revolted at himself for not recognizing it earlier.

_"I told you he'd know, Cecy!" Frances said triumphantly._

"Did you just figure that out," she said with a small little leering sulk, "or did you just want to finish it and spend yourself first?"

"What are you?" he asked frigidly. "The thing that killed Lady Eades?"

"The thing? The _thing_?! Haven't you figured it out yet, my pretty little Earl? Hasn't your mummy told you yet?" she sneered, getting to her feet and leaning casually against the edge of his desk. "Don't you even recognize your own sister in law?" She laughed again as he coolly tried to mask his startled expression. "Don't worry, _your_ Francie's still in here with me; as a matter of fact I happen to know she enjoyed what we just did nearly as much as you did. But you see, that's the marvelously delicious part of it all. I can do anything I want to this body and just return to my own when I'm through, but Frances, she'll have to live with the consequences of my actions. A moi!" she cried and a bronze letter opener from the desk flew from where it rested into her waiting fingers. She pressed the sharp tip of it instantly to the soft flesh of Frances' throat. A cry flew from Edrington's lips as he stood quickly from his chair and rushed towards her. "Don't!" she warned, pressing the tip into the skin of her neck until little droplets of blood appeared.

"Whatever you want," he said, anger welling up inside of him along with fear for his dearest's well being, "I'll give it to you. Just please, please don't hurt her!"

She cackled her glee at his distress and, removing the letter opener from her throat, put it to her arm and mercilessly sliced through the delicate skin there. Edrington let a shout of torment escape his lips. Cecy cut again, and again; the blood was beginning to pour down her arm in copious amounts, staining the fine lace of her wrap and dripping to the floor. "Anything, he offers me," she scoffed, cutting again. Frances cried out in agony every time the cold metal cut through her skin. "Frances possesses the one thing I want. You gave it to her. " She placed a quivering hand, covered in the oozing ruby liquid from her injuries, upon Frances' belly over her womb, staining the wrap there scarlet. Alexander's dark eyes dawned with horror and realization. "Yours," she said, "your stinking little brat growing inside of her; a girl. She is Farrar, like us. *She* never blessed me with the privilege of carrying a Farrar girl. I can feel her, her power. No more!"

"Good Gawd, no!" Edrington sobbed in anguish as Frances' body doubled over with a shriek of suffering and torment. "Please, Cecile, please, don't hurt them..."

But it was too late. Frances could feel that tiny fragile life force she'd felt earlier being ripped from her like someone was reaching into her and tearing a part of her out. Agony burst through her as she grasped the desk for support. She felt the blood coming from her, seeping down her thighs and knees and calves, pooling at her feet like a grotesque sanguineous lake. Her anguish caught Cecy off guard; Frances had the upper hand for just an instant and seized it.

Through her haze of heartache and severe pain, she managed to clear her brain enough to invoke, "Ah, Anu: Reine de tous, aidez-moi a l'expell cette noirceur de moi!" She felt Cecy leave her body, kicking and screaming all the way; it was if an enormous weight had been lifted from her. Suddenly, she could feel everything, the lacerations across her arm, the deep splitting ache and emptiness within her womb. "There, all better," she managed to say before collapsing. Alexander rushed to her, taking her limp, bloodied body into his arms as he desperately searched for signs of life. Tears fell down his cheeks, the only time he could ever remember crying in his life, as he noted she was still breathing. He kissed her forehead in relief and held her to him tightly, rocking her as he stroked her hair.

"God dammit," he cried to anyone who could hear him, "someone get a doctor! Please, somebody get a doctor, quickly!"


	16. Chapter 16

Frances was awakened by the sound of her own laborious breathing; it came in difficult, heavy gasps that filled the stillness of the gloomy bedchamber. With much effort she managed to turn her head, regarding through hazy half lidded eyes the two figures seated by the hearth, their profiles outlined and shadowed by the flickering orange flames of the roaring fire. Edrington sat, his chin rested against his fist, the same unnervingly still almost stifled or dead look upon his handsome features, in his flat dark eyes. Lady Hermione sat across from his, her sharp face softened with concern and sadness as she considered her son. She placed her elegant hand upon his knee and squeezed reassuringly. When she spoke it sounded to Frances as if she did so through water, the sound was so distorted and distant. "You can do nothing here," she told Alexander. "She will wake when she wakes, whether you are here or not. You should be trying to find Dame Wardsoame."

"No," Edrington insisted resolutely. "I will not leave her. When she wakes I will be first at her side." He had not confided in his mother all that had taken place so the guilt was his alone to bear and it weighed heavily on his already burdened shoulders. If he had only listened to his mother in the first place; her mad notions of witchcraft and magic had all seemed like nonsense to his practical sensibility a mere twenty-four hours ago. If he had listened to her, believed her maybe there would have been some way he could have protected his Francie.

Lying there, too weak to move or speak for the moment, Frances reflected on the moment Lady Hermione had shared with her her suspicions of Cecy. It was in the library that night, the night she revealed to her that she in fact had taken the Shadow Book from mama's room the night of her death to keep it from falling into Cecile's hands. She didn't believe it at the time, not whole-heartedly. Cecy was her sister, a blood tie, a Farrar. But the suggestion helped to encourage some of her own misgivings about her sibling.

~~~'This is what you're looking for is it not?' Lady Hermione had asked. "Come sit beside me, little one, we have much to discuss." Frances had then begun to cry; she had been caught and who knew what her mother-in-law had in store for her. Blackmail perhaps? Would she try to keep her apart from Alexander. To Frances, that would be worse than exile or death. She had taken the seat that was offered to her next to Lady Hermione and much to her own surprise the woman had rather gently put her arm around Frances' sagging shoulders. "Now, now, don't cry, Franny. I don't mean to harm you but to warn you!"

"But... I don't understand," Frances had gulped in between sobs. "How did you, I mean, when... How could you know?"

"Dear girl, I've always known," Hermione had laughed. "That is why I arranged your marriage to my son in the first place!" Frances had shot her a confused and questioning glance. "You're mother was very powerful indeed, the most powerful of one of the oldest clans there is. I know that you are descended from the Tuatha de Dannan themselves and that your ancestors chose to stay behind when those most ancient of majickal people fled the coming of man to Ireland and went underground. In every generation there is but one Queen, the thrice blessed, the Farrar one. Your mother was such. And so Franny, as your mother suspected, are you."

Frances' eyes had widened. Her mother had believed *her* to be the thrice blessed? Suddenly things mama had said things she had done, had taught her, began to take form in her mind. She began to understand them; what they had meant, why she had been made to learn them in the first place. More questions filled her head. "But if you suspected I was the Farrar one surely you must have known that I could not provide the Edrington family with an heir. If it is true, I can only bear girl children."

"Yes, Franny," smiled Lady Hermione. "The most special of girl children, the heir to something much larger and much more powerful than the Edrington name. That is why I wanted to marry you to Alexander for together you will make the strongest of Farrar kin."

"Are you a witch?"

"Oh, heavens, no! Goodness!" Hermione chuckled. "How I wish I was, but my line has been much ignored and diluted over the years and though Alexander does have in him some of the blood from my family it is not strong enough for the majick to take hold as it has with you and your clan. Now, there are other things we must talk over; why I took the Shadow Books from Lady Eades' room for instance. I'm sure you must be wondering." Frances nodded dumbly, trying to digest everything she'd been told so far. "Your mother had certain suspicions, Franny. This will not be easy to hear. She believed your sister was working against you, Franny. She believed her ambition had gotten the best of her and her intent turned to darkness and I agreed. You are in danger from her, Franny."

Frances had tried to protest meekly but it was no use. If mama had suspected... Was it her own sister she had been trying to protect her from? It made sense, Frances had to admit. She remembered her mama's words to her: 'Cecy is far too ambitious...' That statement seemed to echo within her now, taking on far too many different meanings. "I know this must be very difficult for you," Lady Hermione took her hand and patted it softly. "I took the books to protect you from her as your mother had tried to do before... and failed." Still Frances refused to believe it. And so Lady Hermione had devised a plan to lay a trap for Cecy. They would make known the location of the books but if Cecy tried to use any of the spells for dark purpose, they would backfire, giving her a slap on the hand more than anything else for they were mild traps. Frances agreed rather reluctantly. How she wished now she had taken better precautions!~~~

"Sir," Sophia, who had been lingering in the background sullenly, said as placed a hand on and shook Edrington's shoulder. She brought his attention to the now nearly fully aware Frances, saying, "The missus is awake, Sir!"

Without hesitation, Alexander sprang from his chair and bolted over to the bed. She opened her mouth to speak to him but found she was still too unwell to find her voice. "Shhhhhhh, my love," he said soothingly, placing his fingers gently against her lips. "You'll be all right now," he said, kissing her forehead softly. "Just rest."

"I lost the baby, Alex," she managed to croak out. Gawd, her throat was raw and dry and her voice as quiet as the whisper of angels. "I lost the baby, she killed it."

"I know," he said gently, placing his hand upon her own as it resting against her belly. He rubbed delicately. "I know. It'll be all right; the doctors all said there was no permanent damage. There will be others, I promise." But the trembling of his fingers betrayed his intense anger and fear. He hated Cecy; he hated her for taking their child away but most of all for very nearly taking Frances away from him. He could not hide the malice in his dark eyes. He glanced towards his mother and silently she stood, gliding out of them room as if on a cloud, making no sound as she departed, leaving the two shattered lovers alone.

Frances noticed that the room was shrouded in a milky purplish light and that the candles all were lit, casting peculiar fiery shadows across the unfamiliar chambers. She was in her own bed, in her own bedchambers. She hadn't so much as spent more than ten minutes at a time in there since their wedding night when it was bestowed upon her. She didn't like it; she wanted to be in Alexander's bed again. "Is it dawn already?" she asked drowsily, trying to keep her head.

"Dusk, my love," he replied, "you've been to rest all day."

This jarred her awake fully. She sat up with much effort, for her lower region was still sore and Edrington was insisting that she remained laying down. "Where is Cecy? Where has the traitor gone?"

"We cannot find her, Francie," he answered regretfully. "We are snowed in, if she attempted to make it off grounds on foot she'd most like frozen to death by now as all her clothes remain here and none of our horses have been taken. She would not be so stupid so concluded she must still be in the manor but we have searched everywhere; she is vanished."

"She's hiding," she said, narrowing her eyes as she rested her head comfortably against his strong supportive shoulder. His arms were around her. "She's hiding from me; I can feel her, but I don't know where."

Suddenly, the door flew open and Parker, on of the Edrington's most trusted servants, entered in a fluster. He bowed rather hastily and hurried to explain himself: "I am sorry, your Lordship. I know the Lady Hermione gave specific orders that you are not to be interrupted or disturbed in any way but you bid me inform you of your friend, Major Whyte-Harris' every move and this seemed important. He is attempting to leave Abberline Cross, your Lordship."

"Yes, thank you, Parker, you were right in informing me," Edrington nodded. He looked to Frances for a moment obviously torn as to whether or not he chance to leave her again. She urged him to go, that it was more important that Cecy be found than he sit around and dote on her all night. The choice tore him apart but finally he yielded, bidding Sophia, "Watch after her, keep all your wits about you for the other is cunning. Above all, keep her safe." Sophia nodded dutifully. He gave his wife one last kiss upon her lips and quit the room.


	17. Chapter 17

"Always were one to turn tail and run, **Major** ," Edrington sneered, catching Whyte-Harris in the act of his hasty retreat. The wiry man's complexion was paler than usual, his red hair mussed and uncared for, his eyes filled with fear as he lugged whatever he could fit into his two smallest valises until they were bulging down the main staircase in the front hall.

"Aye," he answered, not a twinge of conscience evident in his voice, "and so should you, old friend, if you knew what was good for you! Take your beautiful wife and get the hell out of here as fast as you can, go as far from here as you can. There's evil gathering around this place; I was blind to its depths before, but not anymore!"

"The roads are all snowed in; there's no path for you to leave upon," stated Edrington sharply, regarding his friend with a stare that rivaled that of even the chill winds outside.

"Then I shall walk out of this fell place upon my own two feet, if needs be!" Whytie insisted and for the moment he paused to look upon his friend, to offer in his eyes and through his glance an apology. "I didn't know! When I first approached her, I didn't know what she planned!"

"You were blackmailing her." It was a statement not a question.

"My promotion," confirmed Whytie with a nod, "and our, erm, physical... connection. I thought I was in control; I told her I'd expose her if she didn't go along with it. It was a game; she knew it, we both enjoyed it. I had no idea what she planned to do, I swear it!" he repeated. "I kept asking her `What about your sister, surely she knows. What will we do about her?' and she would answer 'Leave her to me'. I swear, I didn't know! Tell me, how is Frances?"

"She is recovering," Alexander said tersely, though he knew that what Whytie told him was the truth. "And you are not going anywhere. Do you think I do not know you were sent to my study this morning to distract me, to keep me from returning to my wife before your dark lover's evil purpose was fulfilled?! No, you will stay where you are and where I can watch you for so long as I should find appropriate. Parker," he barked his order, "confine Mr. Whyte-Harris to his chambers until such time as I deem fit."

The servant obeyed and Whytie had no strength with which to struggle or argue but as he was led away, he said to Edrington, "I shouldn't leave your wife for too long. I know Cecile is missing and who knows what more she has conjured with her black will." The words filled Alexander with dread and, without a second thought, he dashed off as fast as his legs could take him to Frances' bedchambers but not before landing a splitting blow to Whytie's jaw so fierce that his friend fell backwards at the impact.

Little did he know that Lady Hermione had already beaten him there and that they both had arrived too late. The door was locked, not by the contraption on the door but by some other magic force. Alexander tried forcing it open, thrusting all his weight against it, then tried an alternate route through his chambers and the breakfast room but to no avail. "There is something you should see," his mother said to him gently taking his arm. At first he was unwilling to leave the blocked doors, clinging desperately to the hope that he could somehow get through and save his love. He thought of the things Cecy had done to her last time, the horrible things, and the way he'd almost lost her. The thought restricted his breathing like a serpent constricting about his chest, and his heart was torn asunder. If Cecy dared to harm her again, so help him, he would wring her neck with his own hands and watch the life drain from her with glee. "She's stronger now, she knows how to defend herself," his mother urged. "But there is yet something we must prepare to do. Come now, we must hurry."

It was when she had excused herself, allowing her son some time alone with his grieving wife that Lady Hermione had come to Cecy's chambers. They were empty and cold in the darkening evening but there she felt something; a stir. No, Cecy was not there but a lingering thread of her black existence still tarried. It led her to the trunk resting at the foot of the grand bed. Hermione had an idea of what she expected to find as she opened the thing but gasped nonetheless when the lid fell back and there and she saw the body of Cecy, lifeless but not so, lying within. Her ruthless eyes remained open, even as her spirit roamed the halls of Abberline Cross, taking for its own a new host. She gasped again as realization dawned on her. It was then she rushed to Frances' chambers, finding them in the same state as her son did after her.

"What ails her?" Alexander asked, spying the still form of his sister-in-law resting upon her bed where Lady Hermione had managed to move her. He waved his hand in front of her eyes; she did not react.

"She has shed this earthly form and taken another's by force, as she has done with her mother and Frances," Lady Hermione replied. "She has gone to finish it with her sister but Frances is stronger; she is the Farrar blessed. She managed to forcibly expel Cecile from her body, an act even their mother could not achieve. Frances *will* drive her back into her own body and that is why we must be here; to subdue her when the time comes."

Edrington didn't want to be here waiting, though as a military man he understood the clever strategy of it; he wanted to be with Frances, helping her, protecting her. When Cecy awoke he'd be here to subdue her alright, if she hurt his Francie anymore than she already had he'd Goddamn throttle the life from her. Only one question remained in his mind: "But I left Frances in Sophia's care, how could she..." The answer presented itself to him suddenly and once again he was filled with apprehension and fear for his cherished beloved.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frances coerced her aching body into the sitting position and slowly turned her head to observe Sophia. "I know who you are," she said softly.

Sophia shifted her head to glance upon her mistress, the roaring fire behind her on the hearth setting her alight with a strange blaze. She spoke to her in a slow condescending tone nursemaids often spoke to the sick in, "Of course you do, Lady Edrington. I've been in your service since I was fifteen."

Frances' face broke into an odd sort of smile and she chuckled more out of perception than humor. She moved so her legs hung over the side of the bed and drew her covers back, preparing to stand. "I mean, I know who you really are; I can see inside of you. She's there, like a shadow crouching within you, eating away at you from the interior outwards. I know how it feels. You don't need to pretend with me anymore, Cecy. And Sophia's been with us since she was fourteen not fifteen." And so it was revealed and Cecy, in Sophia's body cast of the pretense of innocence. She rose, her clouded eyes flashing with malicious intent as she stalked her sister slowly, moving as a tiger upon its prey. "But I no longer lack strength, Cecy," Frances told her calmly, meeting her evil gaze. "I have always been strong no matter what you have tried to convince me of out of your jealousy, and I possess a husband who loves me and cares for me despite the lies you have tried to poison me with." She stood then on her feet with an energy and power she herself would not have guessed she held. "I am the thrice blessed one, Cecy; I am the Farrar one. Not you. You are nothing, you are powerless," she spat out echoing her sibling's own words.

Cecy let out a fierce wild shriek like a war cry and charged towards her, her arms raised as if to either choke or thrash her. Serenely Frances began to chant low and softly something even Cecy did not recognize. A wind arose, originating seemingly from Franny herself, extinguishing the candles and the fire that lit the room and knocking Cecy off balance. They were left in total blackness. She heard Cecy's feet retreating towards the door but would have none of it. "Soyez la acume sortie," Franny barked and the doors slammed shut locking of their own accord, as did the shutters upon the windows and the flue within the fireplace. Truly there would be no escape; Cecy would atone for her crimes. "Three times three; courage, love and humility," Frances continued to chant, letting the warmth of the majick wash over her, run through her veins, take her over. She felt her feet leave the floor but gave scarcely a care. "When the girl child is born who possess all three, so it is told the blessed one she will be."

"No," Cecy screamed, seething with rage, "no, it's not true! You're nothing! I'm the special one; it's me, it's me!" Frances' chant continued and Cecy felt herself being lifted from the ground and thrown about from wall to wall, impacting violently, leaving bruises and bumps where she connected with the many surfaces she was being flung against.

"You possess none of those, Cecy," she continued calmly, even as her sister continued to be hurled about as no more than a rag doll in the air. "I would have given you anything; wealth, property, the husband of your choice. I loved you as only a sister could and I still do but you must pay for what you have done. You have betrayed blood and that is unforgivable." Alexander's sabers stood mounted upon the wall above the mantle and Cecy found herself hurtling towards them, their sharp shining points awaiting her soft flesh. She screamed aloud and sought brace herself with her desperate hands and arms but the movement of her body stopped suddenly just as the edges of the swords pressed against Sophia's breast, not piercing the skin but cutting the cloth of her bodice. "But it is not for me to mete out punishment as such; I cannot make death or my will and my intent will become as dark as yours. And I will not doom poor faithful Sophia for your folly," Frances sighed. "Instead I have thought of a much more just punishment; one that will taunt you until the day you die."

"Franny, lovely, what are you going to do?" Cecy's quavering voice asked from Sophia's body as she tried to keep her breaths shallow enough so that the sabers would not stab her.

"Bend the bones and break the back," Frances began, calling about her all the spirits and majickal creatures she could summon. They licked their lips in gleeful anticipation, chittering and clawing amongst themselves to do their mistress' bidding. "Take her majick powers back!" she commanded, her voice echoing throughout the chamber. With a howl, Cecy felt herself being ripped from Sophia's body, being forced back by a thousand or more cold hands into her own body. Sophia fell limply to the floor and Frances rushed to her, cradling the girl within her arms, summoning the fire once again to light and warm the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cecy opened her eyes blearily. Her disorientation was intense and her head ached as it had never before. She groaned and stirred, hearing a voice address her seemingly from a great distance. "Here awakens Morgan Le Fey," Edrington jeered and she saw him standing above her as her vision cleared. Instantly, she scrambled off the bed and away from him and spat out a curse. Nothing happened. She tried the incantation again, still Edrington remained as he was. Angrily, she grabbed at her hair and only then did she notice that it had turned from the golden color she usually kept it with her majick to the mousy light brown of her natural color.

"No!" she yelled, turning towards a mirror. There she stood; her shoulders slouched and her hair a mess of indistinguishable tangled curls. She was again the girl she had been before she had come into her majick. Not plain, not charmless, but she perceived herself that way and therefore hated the sight of herself. "You!" she turned on Edrington, "this is your fault! We were happy before we came here!"

"Was Frances happy," he snarled, "with your constant berating? In your vile viciousness and your jealousy ever lashing out at her? Never have I hit a Lady in my life..." He drew back his fist and struck her with all his might across the jaw. She fell backwards, sobbing and cursing her own misfortune. "... But to you I am tempted to do so much worse. Content yourself with the fact that Frances had mercy on you accordingly so shall I. Now I will leave you in your pitiful state for it is obvious that you can no longer do harm. But always remember that you are in mine and my Lady's debt for all time."


	18. Chapter 18

  
**Seven months later:**

"Is that book so engrossing, milord," Frances gave a mock pout as she entered the small study connected to her husband's bedchamber and crossed to where he sat, book in hand, "that you refuse to come keep your poor wife warm?" She took a seat and the armrest of his chair and wrapped an arm around his shoulder and rested a cheek against the top of his soft golden head.

He chuckled, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. "I thought you were asleep. In your condition, you need all the rest you can get."

"In my condition?" she arched an eyebrow playfully. "In my condition, milord," she said with a smile, placing her hand upon his jaw and tilting his head so she could press her lips to his, "I am more eager than before to suffer my husband's love." She ran her tongue across his bottom lip seductively and grinned. He groaned but seemed still reluctant. She looked at him curiously then smiled again. She took his hand in hers and, parting her robe, placed it upon the warm bare flesh of her belly where he tenderly and cautiously explored the slight bulge. The earliest signs of her pregnancy had just begun showing and since Alexander had been almost timid in touching her, in their lovemaking. "You won't hurt me, Alex," she told him gently. "You won't hurt her; she's strong, just like you and Cecy cannot hurt her any longer."

He grinned, becoming bolder in his caresses. She was in there; their baby, his daughter, growing inside of the thing he loved most in the world's tummy. He bent his head and kissed her there delicately. She giggled and squirmed at the tickling of his lips, whispering to him, "There'll be plenty of time to shower our little girl with kisses. Right now your wife is feeling somewhat neglected and wants a few kisses of her own."

"Does she indeed?" he smirked, his hand wandering upwards beneath her wrap to cup her full breast in his palm. She gasped as he rubbed his thumb in circles around the hardening bud of her nipple as he breathed into the sensitive shell of her ear huskily, "We must remedy that at once, my love." She moaned as he claimed her mouth as his own, his tongue thrusting between her lips to ravage the warm sweetness inside. He undid the tie of her robed and pushed it open, telling her: "I did not promise to keep the kisses on your mouth, love", continuing the dance of his thumb against her flesh with his tongue, rolling it around her rosy aureole before sucking the plump little pink nub between his lips while his hands explored the familiar curves of her body. He knew her by heart; where she liked to be touched, where she was ticklish, where to stroke in order to drive her instantly mad with desire.

She groaned, pushing herself into him as he alternately suckled and nipped at the sweet nipple; kissing it, plucking it, pulling at it with his lips and teeth. Heat spread like warmed honey through her until it oozed molten fluid from her core. She buried her face in his hair, content on inhaling the scent of sandalwood and masculinity that radiated from him as she gasped her pleasure against him. "Love you," he murmured against the swell of her breast, tasting her again and again as if he could never get enough.

"Let me do something for you?" she asked, her throaty voice muffled by the luscious thickness of his hair. He looked up at her questioningly, his dark eyes almost black with stimulation. She just smiled at him and moved down his body parting his legs and settling her body, kneeling, between his thighs. She ran both hands up his now burgeoning groin, massaging the hardness, kissing him through the fabric of his breeches. He growled, moving his pelvis towards her; he could feel her breath burning through the wool of his trousers and was eager to feel it on his bared flesh.

"You don't have to..." he began to say but his voice melted into a groan as she rested her head against the bulge and rubbed her cheek up and down against it. His hips moved rhythmically against her as he tenderly urged her on, running his hands through the soft fall of her hair lovingly, watching it slip through his fingers like silk, twirling the one silver strand that had sprouted from her temple since her battle with Cecy around his forefinger. He had always held a passionate desire to feel her lips around his cock and the first and last time she had... well, the situation surrounding it had prevented either from enjoying it as much as they should have done.

"I want to," she told him, holding his smoldering gaze as she placed kissed all along the growing rigidity between his thighs as her fingers fumbled with the buttons. "I want to so greatly. I want to taste you." Finally, inflamed by her words, he pushed her hands away and helped her remove his breeches, sighing at the feel of her fingertips grazing his naked thighs and legs as she pulled his pants off. There he was, his spectacular swollen manhood stretching and standing from its nest of honey gold curls, fat if not overlong and completely marvelous in every way in Frances' eyes. She nearly lost her nerve again but memories of that night came back to her; despite Cecy's violently unwanted intrusion, the experience had been so pleasurable for the both of them. She wanted to do this to him now; for him, for herself. His body jerked as she placed wet sucking kisses along the length of the shaft, moving from the base to the smooth tip as she savored the potent manly taste of his privates. He grunted as she took the swollen helmet between her lips, slowly swallowing him inch by inch until the engorged head stroked the opening to her throat. She gagged slightly and pulled back for a moment, filling Alexander with concern for her. He moved to reach for her, to comfort her, but she shoved his hand away and continued taking him into her again until his entire expanse was inside of her mouth. He groaned deeply as she caressed him with lips and tongue, suckling him voraciously as the bulging crown of his dick slid into her throat, her muscles spasming at the invasion in reflex only adding to his pleasure as they kneaded that most sensitive part of his sex. There was momentary discomfort for Frances but the gratification of the act soon overtook her senses as well. Wild sounds came from him as she drew him in and out, sucking every inch of his column of flesh as it passed between her lips, worshipping him as he deserved to be worshipped.

For all of Cecy's skill and proficiency, he had not experienced half the pleasure when she had taken him into her mouth as he was at that moment; watching his throbbing dick as it disappeared into her and reappeared again drenched in her saliva as she moved her head on him faster and faster with each stroke. He strained to hold back his hips as intense feelings and emotions washed over him in waves. She groaned, letting how know much she was enjoying the deed and the sound of her voice reverberated against his receptive flesh, making his back arch of the chair and a keening cry of delight fly from his throat. When she took his balls in her hand and began to fondle their heavy bulging weight, he could no longer hold himself back. Clutching the chair with one strong arm, her hair with the other, he began to grind his pelvis against her. At first she choked and gagged on him but, learning his rhythm, she began to receive as much enjoyment from it as he was. She nuzzled his pubic mound as he thrust all the way in and, in a moment of adventurousness, her tongue lashed out from betwixt her lips and licked his balls. The action caused him to lose all control of his senses as he shouted his rapture and spilled into her mouth, his hot cum filling her mouth and cascading down her throat.

His chest was heaving as she made her way up his body and settled on his lap, resting her head against his thundering heartbeat and burrowing into his warmth like a kitten. "Mmmmmm," she grinned, "I liked that." A chuckle rocked his chest as he embraced her tightly, tilting her face upwards towards his in order to shower her with kisses. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed they shared, removing her robe and caressing her exposed skin with lips and tongue until she was panting for him. Finally he removed his shirt, dragging it over his head and discarding it urgently, and joined her upon the mattress, relishing the feel of her soft naked body against his.

He parted her legs and rested her knees upon his shoulders as he pressed his mouth to the delicate fleshy shell of her vagina, parting the slick pink folds with his tongue and latching his lips onto the quivering bundle of nerves within, suckling it even as he lapped up the surges of her sex's fluids of pleasure as they drenched his chin and throat. He licked her out ravenously, the arching of her hips sending his lips and tongue deeper into her. The mere smell of her arousal, the salty springtime rain smell of her womanly juices he was so eagerly sipping from her, sent the blood rushing like a river from his head to his nether regions and he felt his dick begin to harden again. He groaned as he pushed into her more insistently and the sound tickled her to the very core, pushing her over the edge to ecstasy. She climaxed with a giggling shout, covering his face with her cream as he slurped up her come.

Again he lightly kissed her barely bulging belly and moving up to her breasts, teasingly thrilled her nipples with his tongue. He was lying besides her when at last he came to her mouth, kissing her deeply, passionately. He took her shoulder in his tight grip and gently began nudging her, urging her onto her side. "What are you doing?!" she squealed in surprise though the grin on her face betrayed her tone.

"I am larger than you and heavy," he explained as he pressed his muscular chest up against her back. "I do not want to lie on top of you; I'm frightened I'll hurt the baby."

"Honestly!" she said assertively, trying to turn back to him but he stopped her and pushed her back into place. "I told you that you wouldn't hurt the baby nor me! I..." her voice trailed off into a deep throated moan as he pushed his erection into the soft crack of her backside.

"I want to have you this way," he whispered huskily, smirking as he kissed along the expanse of her shoulders and wrapped an arm about her waist, positioning her hips to take him in. "Besides," he added wickedly, "this way I can see your bottom. Now spread your legs for me, love." She did as she was told and felt his dick glide between her thighs, rubbing against the moist lips of her womanhood, which were still tingling with sensation from her last orgasm only moments ago. He spread her with his hands and entered her with a mighty thrust, groaning as he felt the tight walls of her sheath close around him snugly. He braced his arms against the mattress on either side of her for better leverage, making sure they still surrounded her in a loving embrace, as he pumped into her. Glancing down he watched his cock plunging into her, covering him in her body's spending until he glistened. He felt his rod grow rock hard under his scrutiny and smiled as his penetrations became more desperate.

Frances gasped and panted, grasping at the bed sheets frantically as the angle he had entered her at caused him to touch and stroke places he had never reached in her before. She could feel his love for her in each of his driving thrusts and fed it back to him with every rapturous noise that came from her throat. Too soon both felt their bliss upon them; she could feel his essence pouring inside of her like heat spreading throughout her as she came, her muscles squeezing his shaft strongly as he erupted. "Beautiful," he murmured as his breath began to calm moments later, brushing the sweat dampened hair from her neck and nibbling along the sensitive skin from her shoulder to her jaw.

"You tire of me eventually," she teased with a smile.

"Never!" he denied resolutely. "How could you ever even contemplate such a thing?! I'll love you forever."

"I'll love you longer than that," she said playfully.

"Then I'll love you even longer than that," he returned, "and want you this greatly for that long; longer still."

"You better," she replied mischievously, "or I shall have to turn you into a toad, which might become very unpleasant!" She felt his chuckle rumble within his chest like thunder. "You do realize," she said after a tender pause in silence, "that when the baby is born the entire host of my family will once again invade Edrington Estate, don't you?"

He laughed again. "And to think I had actually thought over how many had most likely ridden in upon their broomsticks at the time of our wedding."

"Speaking of which," then she chuckled, recognizing her own unintended pun. She continued more seriously, "Do you think Cecy is very unhappy?"

"As she should be," he snorted, caring not how his shrew of a sister-in-law was taking her forced marriage to Whyte-Harris. It had been one of the terms on which they'd agreed upon when he'd resolved to allow her to continue her stay at Abberline Cross on his beloved wife's request. He would not allow Cecy and Whytie's frolics to soil Frances' reputation; marriage had been the only solution. In his opinion, the two deserved each other and he wanted to give them no more consideration. "Let's think on more pleasant things, my Francie," he smiled, turning her in his arms so she faced him. He kissed her and gazed adoringly into her eyes. "If this were a book, I know exactly how it would end."

"Well," she bit her lip coyly, "if it were one of your satires, it would probably end rather cynically with Cecy triumphant and successful in her attempts in stealing my life. If it were one of your tragedies, I imagine we'd all be dead by now..."

"And one of your romances?" he smirked, full well knowing the answer.

"Oh, that's easy," she laughed, cuddling into his arms. "'And they lived happily ever after'."

"And they did," he smiled, kissing her all the more deeply. And they did.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**Epilogue:**

Cecy was pouting again; sitting upon their bed in their honeymoon suite with her arms and legs crossed. "Tell me again how this is my fault?!" Whytie scoffed, casting her a dark glare. She just shot him a viscous stare and turned so she was no longer facing him. "Fine, fine, blame me for everything! It's my fault your sister is more powerful than you are," he shouted, "it's my fault we were forced to marry, it's my fault you chose to manipulate and use me! Everything is my damned fault! It's my fault I wasn't good enough for you," he added humbly.

"I never said that," Cecy said quietly after a moment of silence. "I'm sorry I'm not beautiful enough for you."

Whytie's shoulders slumped in defeat; no matter what this woman had done, the terrible things she had planned and the acts she had committed, he could not help but care for her. Perhaps Ripper had been correct when he had told him in anger that the two of them deserved each other. He sat on the bed behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, caressing gently, slipping his fingers inside the sleeves of her shift to touch the bare skin beneath. "You are beautiful," he said tenderly, "more beauty than I'm worthy of."

She looked at him, blinking back unshed tears. "I'm ugly," she said plainly. "I gave over my will to dark intent, and I am no longer able to make myself handsome in appearance. You pity me, that's all." She turned away from him again.

"That's not it," he sighed, moving his hands further down to the tops of her breasts. "You are repentant for what you have done to your sister and she forgives you it. As for your handsomeness," he brushed her hair from her face and shoulders even as she tried to hide herself from him. He pressed his lips to her neck as his thumbs found her nipples and tugged at the hard little nubs making her gasp. "You are the most comely woman I have ever had the pleasure of pleasuring and, believe me, there have been quite a few." His voice was but a hot husky whisper against the shell of her ear, making her skin prickle with goose flesh. "I feel a flush of pride when I introduce you as my wife for I know that all the other men are envious, Lady Cecile Whyte-Harris."

"I am not beautiful," she said though her breath was growing short from his touch and his closeness.

"If you were not, Cecy," he replied with an excited laugh, "I would not want to lie with you as much as I need to now." He pushed her down on the bed and mounted her, untying her shift and exposing her breasts to the touch of his lips and tongue. "Please, my fair Lady, lie with me?"

"What's that line that all of Franny's insipid fairy stories end with?" Cecy asked, wrapping her legs around his waist as she accepted his large cock into her. "Happily ever after?"

"Not for us," Whytie grinned naughtily, his eyes fluttering closed at the delight of being inside of her. "How about 'And they lived wickedly ever after'?"

"That's more like it," Cecy smiled, snuggling into him wantonly.

**THE END**  



End file.
